


Here's looking at you

by illuminate



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Ableist Language, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Spy, Established Relationship, M/M, There's a lot of flashbacks, but he gets smacked for it I promise, slightly non-chronological, the spy AU nobody asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-28 17:02:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 26,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15711525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illuminate/pseuds/illuminate
Summary: “So domestic trouble rather than treason?” Floreal said.“I’m not saying one precludes the other.” Enjolras said, which came out more pained than he had intended.“Are you suggesting Grantaire sold national secrets to a crime lord because you were a bad boyfriend?” Floreal asked. Her tone was bemused, but there was a glint in her eye that turned the comment into mockery.“No.” Enjolras snapped, stung, and then didn’t say more.Spy AU. Grantaire removes his tracker and disappears the same night Lamarque is killed in his office. Enjolras is left behind, trying to figure out what happened and why Grantaire didn't tell him anything.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So fair warning I did absolutely no research for this, because it was supposed to be short and silly and then this happened instead. All I know about spying I learned from action movies.

Enjolras knew in his gut that something bad had happened when he was abruptly woken by his door bell ringing. More asleep than awake, his gun was out of the nightstand and safely in his hand before the first ring was over. He sat up and blinked the last traces of sleep away before checking the time. It was near five in the morning the clock informed him.

Whoever was at his door wanted him bad enough that they didn’t wait to press the doorbell a second time. There was something foreboding in the way the cheerful ringing echoed in his otherwise silent apartment. Unease made him check whether the gun was fully loaded before getting out of bed. It might just be traces of a bad dream or the fight he'd had with Grantaire that caused his discomfort, but spying wasn't a profession you survived in without trusting your instincts. If your gut said something was wrong, you took your precautions.

The second round of ringing trailed off as Enjolras got to the screen at the bedroom door and turned on the camera-feed from the front door. What he saw didn't do much to ease his worry but did make him relax his grip on the gun.

He pulled on a discarded t-shirt from the floor and made a quick, half-hearted attempt at smoothing down his hair before going to answer the door. Halfway to the front door he had a change of heart and went back to the bedroom to check his phone. There were no texts or missed calls. He wavered there a moment, frowning down at the screen before another press of the doorbell reminded him to hurry. He left the phone and made it to the door before the latest round of ringing stopped.

“Sir,” Enjolras greeted Tholomyès, ignoring Cabuc who loomed behind him. Enjolras had his gun in hand, held loosely and pointing downward with the safety on. Tholomyès was a handler and therefor technically Enjolras' superior, but not Enjolras' handler. This afforded him respect from Enjolras, but not the same amount of trust as the people Enjolras worked missions with.

“What's wrong?” Enjolras asked. Being contacted in the middle of the night was a bad sign in itself, but the fact that it was Tholomyès at his door and not Enjolras' own handler, Lamarque, meant that something out of the ordinary must have happened.

Tholomyès' eyes swept over Enjolras, starting at his sleep-mused hair and ending at his bare feet, barely pausing at the gun on the way. “I'm sorry to wake you like this, but I'm afraid there's an emergency.” Tholomyés said. “You have to come in and we need to search your apartment. It looks like the department has a massive breach.”

“A breach? What's happened?” Enjolras asked.

“Lamarque was killed four hours ago in his office. The evidence suggests it was someone from the agency.” Tholomyès said.

“What?” Enjolras said and for a moment he thought he must have heard wrong. “Lamarque- What?”

“You need to come in with us, Enjolras.” Tholomyès repeated. “We need to get to the bottom of this.”

“I – Yes.” Enjolras said collecting himself. “Let me just get dressed, I'll... Do you know who? Does the evidence point to anyone?”

“Your boyfriend.” Cabuc said bluntly and then shrugged, as if to say 'what can you do'.

Tholomyès sent Cabuc a reproachful look over his shoulder before confirming. ”Grantaire is gone. He disabled his tracker an hour before Lamarque's estimated time of death.”

 

*

 

A few hours before Lamarque’s presumed time of death, Grantaire had broken into Enjolras' apartment. 'Broken in' might be too harsh a word for it. He already knew the codes for Enjolras' security system, but he'd had to pick the lock because he didn't have a key for the door. A few months earlier Enjolras had been planning on giving Grantaire a key, but then Grantaire's mood had soured dramatically. Since then they had spent half their time fighting and Enjolras had started appreciating that Grantaire couldn't turn up unannounced. 

The night Lamarque died Grantaire picked the lock to get into Enjolras' apartment. Two hours before Grantaire's tracker was disabled, Enjolras came home to find Grantaire already there, messing with Enjolras' CD player.

“What are you doing here?” Enjolras had asked, annoyed from the start.

“You say such sweet things. It's great to see you too.” Grantaire said, putting down a CD case he'd been moving.

“You were supposed to meet Bossuet an hour ago. He's tried calling you but you haven't been picking up your phone.”

Grantaire licked his lips and looked away. “Oops?” He said, like it was a question.

“Something wrong with your phone?” Enjolras asked.

“I don't think so.” Grantaire shrugged and pulled at the edge of his sleeves in a way that was a clear sign of guilt to anyone who knew him well. It convinced Enjolras that Grantaire had seen Bossuet's calls and had decided to ignore them.

Enjolras sighed. “What are you doing here, Grantaire?”

Grantaire shrugged again and smiled unconvincingly, not meeting Enjolras gaze. “I wanted to see you.”

“You wanted to see me?” Enjolras echoed, not bothering to hide his disbelief.

“Why the interrogation?” Grantaire asked, his fake smile dropping and his voice hardening. “Do I need a reason to come by?”

“You stood up one of our friends without a word and then broke into my apartment. So yes, I'd like an explanation.”

“I didn't _break in_. I know the codes, that's not breaking in.” Grantaire insisted, walking closer to Enjolras. He stopped at touching distance and finally met Enjolras gaze it with a mocking glint to his eyes, challenging. Enjolras crossed his arms and held his ground, staring back with a hard look of his own

It only took a moment before Grantaire backed down, looking away with a shake of his head. “If you want me to leave, I'll leave.” Grantaire said, and he was already moving, stepping away and around Enjolras.

It had seemed off, somehow. Grantaire was always the first to back down when they started fighting, or rather the only one who backed down, because Enjolras had a temper when he got going. But this was much faster than Enjolras would have expected given Grantaire's mood lately. Grantaire had been picking fights with Enjolras all week. Something had seemed off about Grantaire's behavior in general, lately. Enjolras never knew what he could expect from him anymore.

Perhaps it would have been better if Grantaire had left then, but in that moment Enjolras' frustration had boiled over. He turned and grabbed Grantaire's arm, stopping him in his tracks.

“What are you _doing_?” Enjolras hissed. “You're impossible to work with, you're angry, you pick fights all the time and you don't show up when you're supposed to. They're going to suspend you if you keep going like this. Is that what you want?”

Grantaire roughly pulled his arm out of Enjolras' grip with a glare. “They're going to suspend me? Where did you hear that?”

“They'll have to if you keep putting on this show. You couldn’t do much better if you were _trying_ to sabotage yourself.”

“So you didn't hear it anywhere. _You_ think they should suspend me.” Grantaire said, his eyes glinting dangerously. “How smoothly you leave yourself out of the equation and make it about work. _You_ think I'm unreliable. Dangerous. _You_ don't trust me.”

Some part of Enjolras knew he would regret it later, but it didn't stop him from replying: “Yes. The way you've been acting lately I think you're incapable of doing your job.”

Grantaire didn't look surprised by the accusation. In fact, he nodded once and said - like he'd had the words prepared: “I'm capable. You'll see.”

It was the last thing he said before leaving, the last time Enjolras saw him - roughly two hours before Grantaire’s tracker was disabled and three hours before Lamarque was killed.

 

*

 

They didn't lead Enjolras to one of the interrogation rooms in the basement, like he expected. Instead he was brought to Tholomyès office, where, oddly, Babet connected him to a lie detector. 

“We're trained to cheat these.” Enjolras pointed out while Babet secured the sensors to his hand.

Tholomyès apologetically explained that even though lie detectors were unreliable it was protocol, that everyone would have to go through it, that Babet was something of a polygraph expert and would hopefully be able to tell if anyone tried to cheat. He then added, off the record, that he didn't think Enjolras would try to lie, that he didn't suspect Enjolras of ever having acted against the interest of his country, but that obviously, Enjolras was likely to know something of interest, given his relationship with Grantaire.

Enjolras didn't lie. Numbly, he told them everything he remembered about Grantaire's visit that night before, including Grantaire's ominous parting words. Enjolras answered every question to the best of his knowledge, even the ones that felt uncomfortably personal.

“Do you fight often?”  Tholomyès asked at one point.

“The last couple of weeks, yes.”

“You didn't fight much before that?”

“We did, but not as often.”

“Would you say this fight was worse than usual?”

“I didn't think so until after, when he didn't come back.”

“He usually comes back after walking out like that?”

Enjolras paused, almost asked Tholomyès how that was relevant, then thought better of it and ground out: “If he thinks I go too far he walks away because I'm bad at deescalating. He comes back or calls me when we've both cooled off.”

“What time did you realize he wasn't coming back?”

From there the questions thankfully moved towards creating a timeline of the evening and away from the workings of Enjolras' love life. It turned out Tholomyès saved the worst question for absolute last, after Babet had given the all-clear and Enjolras thought he was done.

“Enjolras, one last question.” Tholomyès said, after Babet had released Enjolras from the machine, but before Enjolras had a chance to get out of the chair. “Do you believe Grantaire did it?”

Since stepping into the building Enjolras had mostly succeeded at remaining detached, but that last question caused a spike of worry.

“You only told me his tracker was disabled.” Enjolras said. “You must have more than that to be this certain it's him.”

“Everybody will be briefed on the details when we're done with the interviews, but yes we found some very incriminating evidence.” Tholomyès said. “Lamarque sent a file to the Lyon Director last night. It was a video from CCTV cameras on Gare Du Nord of Grantaire passing something to a known associate of the Thenardiers. We think Grantaire was trying to retrieve the video when he killed Lamarque. I'm telling you this because you'll have to come back in for more questions soon. The video was dated 6 weeks ago. It seems Grantaire has been rogue for a while. You should try and think back, see if you can remember anything that might be useful.”

Enjolras, unable to find his voice, nodded numbly in response.

 

*

 

“If I'd done something bad – something really, objectively bad. What would you do?” Grantaire had asked Enjolras two weeks before Lamarque died.

To Enjolras' great disappointment, Grantaire had showed up to work that day looking suspiciously hungover. Trying to avoid yet another fight, Enjolras had gone to the shooting range, thinking the loudest room in the building would be the best hiding place. But he had underestimated how much Grantaire wanted to talk with him, not to mention Grantaire's ability to stoically bear suffering.

Grantaire followed Enjolras all the way to the firing line and remarked “I remember this booth.” before squeezing into a corner and sitting down on the floor. Then he'd quietly sat there with earmuffs on, sipping coffee while Enjolras fired and reloaded the gun several times.

“Enjolras?” Granatire had eventually said in the relative quiet while Enjolras reloaded. He'd gently touched Enjolras' knee to get his attention over the din of Toussaint firing three booths away.

Enjolras pushed the earmuff off one ear but didn't look down at Grantaire.

“If I'd done something bad – something really, objectively bad. What would you do?” Grantaire had asked. His voice cracked on the words in a way that made it clear it wasn't hypothetical.

“What did you do?” Enjolras had demanded, putting down the gun and pulling the earmuffs completely off. He regretted the harsh reaction the moment he turned and saw Grantaire's broken expression. Grantaire looked like the wrong word might make him fall apart.

“Hypothetically.” Enjolras said, softening his tone and crouching down to Grantaire's level. “It would depend on what you'd done.”

“If I made a mistake. Something that hurts other people.” Grantaire said. “Hypothetically.”

Enjolras sighed. “That's still too vague for me to judge one way or the other.”

Grantaire looked away. “I don't want you to know.” Grantaire admitted, pained.

“Then I can't say what I'd do.” Enjolras said, trying not to raise his voice despite his growing concern. “And I don't know how to help you.”

“You can't know.” Grantaire insisted.

“If it's anything to do with a mission you have to tell Lamarque.”

“He knows, kind of.” Grantaire said darkly. “Most of it.”

“Okay then.” Enjolras said, instantly feeling much calmer. He trusted Lamarque to handle it, whatever it was. He was certain Lamarque would tell him if it was something he needed to know.

Enjolras squeezed into the tight space beside Grantaire and sat down. Grantaire tensed for a moment but relaxed when Enjolras didn’t say anything further.

“What's the worst thing you can imagine yourself doing?” Grantaire asked eventually, voice weak. “Not the worst you can imagine an evil version of yourself doing, but the worst thing you can realistically see yourself doing as you are now. What's the worst outcome you can see happening because of a decision you made?”

“With our job there's a lot of potentially catastrophic mistakes I could make. It's hard picking what would be the worst one.” Enjolras pointed out.

“Trusting someone you shouldn't.” Grantaire suggested quietly.

Enjolras took that as a hint and, hoping to get more, said: “You've accused me of being too trusting before.”

“When you trust someone, you trust them.” Grantaire said. “But people are complicated, and circumstances change. Sometimes you need to reevaluate.”

He would say no more on the subject and Enjolras, unwilling to push Grantaire, and having complete trust in Lamarque's capabilities, had let it go.  

 

*

 

It seemed everyone had been called in when Enjolras finally got out of Tholomyés office. He'd never seen the building this busy before. People were crowding the hallways, moving between small groups gathered around every corner, sharing what Enjolras assumed was a mix of information and guesswork. Whatever they were saying, there was enough true information being spread around for every group to grow suspiciously quiet when Enjolras passed.

The IT department was better than the hallways, if only because people were too busy scurrying out of Houcheloup's way to gossip. Houcheloup was yelling at – everybody, it seemed – about incompetence and dereliction of duty, constantly pausing her rant to correct one of her underlings who weren't performing to her standard. Matelote and Gibelote were sneakily following in her wake, quietly helping or comforting the people unlucky enough to have been caught in her path.

Enjolras had hoped to get in and out unnoticed in the general panic, but Houcheloup noticed his intrusion almost instantly. She descended on him so fast he would have had to retreat back into the stairwell to avoid her.

“What can I do for you, dear?” She asked Enjolras, all motherly concern, no trace of the temper she turned on her own department. “Combeferre isn't here right now."

“I'm looking for Floreal?” Enjolras asked, uncomfortable under the focus of her soft gaze. There was pity on her face that she did nothing to mask.

“Of course, we'll get her for you.” Houcheloup said, waving her hand over her shoulder without looking away.

“No.” Enjolras said hurriedly, stopping Matelote who'd started toward one of the back rooms. “I'd rather go myself. Just point me in the right direction.”

“Room 23b.” Matelote supplied.

“There you go. I'm afraid we're quite busy today, but just let me know if there's anything else we can do for you.” Houcheloup said and patted Enjolras' hand before turning away. She instantly zeroed in on a guy at a nearby computer and demanded to know what he thought he was doing.

Floreal was indeed in room 23b, surrounded by piles of disassembled circuitry. She was wearing reading glasses and doing something delicate with a circuit board and a small plier that was several leagues above Enjolras' technical knowledge. She didn't react when Enjolras first entered and on closer inspection it became clear she was wearing headphones. Enjolras knocked on her table to draw her attention.

“Enjolras?” She said, clearly surprised to see him. “If you're looking for Combeferre he's in R&D last I heard.”

“No. I was looking for you.” Enjolras said. “I want to ask you for a favor.”

“A favor?” Floreal said, raising an eyebrow. She removed her headphones and the glasses, placed them both carefully on the table and looked expectantly up at Enjolras. “Do tell.”

“They're searching Grantaire's apartment right now, looking through everything for evidence. When they file the report, I want you to check whether they found a necklace there. Silver chain with a charm shaped like a compass rose.”

“I know it.”

“I assumed you would.”

Floreal studied him for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. I'll check for you.” She said. “Do you mind if I ask why you're coming to me with this? You know others who could get into those files, and we're not that close.”

“I thought it likely that you'd already decided to look for it.” Enjolras admitted.

“Smart boy.” Floreal said, a mischievous smile spreading on her face that Enjolras had seen her direct at Grantaire before.

Enjolras cleared his throat. “Either way. Thank you for the help.” He said and stepped back toward the door.

“Enjolras. We're not that close.” Floreal repeated. “But I expect the next couple of days are gonna be rough on all of us, so if you ever want to talk about it...”

“I don't think that'll be necessary.” Enjolras said, a little harshly. Floreal didn't seem offended. To Enjolras annoyance, she smiled in response, somewhat condescendingly he thought.

“Do you know what this is?” She asked, picking up a small piece of tech with the plier, no bigger than the nail of her little finger. When Enjolras shook his head, she continued. “This was hidden in my main computer. It's a bug. It's been copying and sending classified information out of the building for I don't know how long. None of our programs picked up on it because they're not designed to look for threats in the basic hardware. It was apparently assumed that anyone with access to our data cores was one of the good guys.”

Houcheloup's shouting suddenly made a lot more sense.

“How many have you found?” Enjolras asked.

“Just the one in mine for now.” Floreal said, putting the bug down again. “I'm not convinced it is him, but if he really did what they're accusing him of, he screwed us both over.”

Enjolras shook his head, not knowing if he was denying the accusation against Grantaire or the comparison.

“I don't want to talk about it. I'll leave you to your bugs.” Enjolras said and left the room before she could respond.

 

*

 

A week after Enjolras had first met Grantaire, he'd convinced Combeferre to get him a copy of Grantaire's personnel files. This was technically not allowed, but Courfeyrac had been on Enjolras' side and Combeferre stood no chance when it was two against one.

“This is an invasion of privacy.” Combeferre had pointed out, resigned, after already having given the files to Enjolras.

“Our boy has a crush and we've got to be supportive, otherwise he'll be all messed up when he grows up.” Courfeyrac had said. “Look how happy you made him! Look at his happy face, doesn't that make it all worth it?”

Enjolras had ignored both of them and gone to read somewhere quiet.

Grantaire's yearly performance appraisals all emphasized his great skill at short-term undercover work. The speed with which he could be deployed and his versatility was what set him above everybody else. You could send him in almost anywhere with no cover story and limited intel, and in a matter of hours he would have made himself an unquestioned part of the environment – perfectly placed to shadow the target or to create a distraction, whatever the operation called for.

“Any social gathering where alcohol is consumed, basically.” Feuilly had told Enjolras. “It's bars more often, but he really can do it anywhere. I once sent him to the opera with no ticket and he was best friends with the target's father-in-law by the end of the first intermission.”

On the first mission Enjolras had with Grantaire, he was planted in a bar. Grantaire spent two hours in a secret backroom losing at poker, before re-emerging to discretely drop Enjolras a phone he had pick-pocketed from the target. Later he saved Enjolras' life by drunkenly knocking over a lamp and starting a fire at the right time. The distraction of the fire alarm had made a bullet meant for Enjolras chest hit his arm instead.

“There's no trick to it.” Grantaire had explained Enjolras later that evening, babbling while driving the get-away-car. “I don't need a lot of preparation because I always play myself. It's often a worse version of myself, since it's usually terrible people I have to befriend – but still, I'm just being me. The real trick is being convincingly drunk. Ask any professional actor and they'll tell you it is one of the hardest things to play. A lot of people overplay it, you see. There's the practical side of it too. If you're in the same place all evening, how do you make it look like you're consuming a lot without consuming anything? Nursing the same drink all night won't work if anyone is watching you. You can make a switch, but then you'll have to get the bartender or a waiter in on it, which could blow your cover. The trick to it – and there I guess I do have a trick – the trick is not to fake it. Rather than learning to play a convincing drunk, I've just learned to do my job while drunk.”

It took Enjolras a moment to put two-and-two together, but when the penny dropped he'd turned to Grantaire with dawning sense of horror and yelled: “Are you kidding me?!”

“Nooo?” Grantaire said, drawing the word out like a question.

“You're driving! What the - Pull over, you can't drive!”

“I can't pull over. We’re being tailed, remember? Besides you can't use your right arm – that dressing is way too loose by the way, remind me to tighten it later - How are you gonna drive a stick without your right arm?” 

Enjolras swiped a hand out after Grantaire, growling unintelligibly in anger. Grantaire ducked away, making the car swerve.

“If you're that concerned about my driving, _hitting me_ won't help!”

Enjolras had grudgingly conceded to that. He waited until they'd lost the tail and Grantaire pulled to a stop, and _then_ he'd lunged at Grantaire.

“You should have said _something_ , you irresponsible -” Enjolras hissed while clumsily hitting at Grantaire with his uninjured arm.

“What happened to trusting me? I – Hey, you're getting blood on me.” Grantaire protested, deflecting Enjolras' – admittedly weak - hits with annoying ease. When Enjolras didn't give up Grantaire grabbed him in a tight hold and twisted around, trapping Enjolras between him and the seat.

“Enjolras, I promise you I'm plenty capable after a couple of drinks. I can give you a demonstration later.” Grantaire said, his breath tickling over Enjolras' ear. “I wouldn't drive if I didn't think it was safe. I wouldn't put you in danger doing something stupid like that.”

“Fine.” Enjolras grumbled and stopped struggling.

Grantaire waited a moment longer, testing, before loosening his grip enough that it could be interpreted as a hug rather than a hold. It was nice, despite the pain in Enjolras' arm and the awkward position. Grantaire smelled of smoke and sweat and alcohol, but Enjolras remembered how earlier he'd smelled of Enjolras' body wash. He couldn't help thinking about waking up with Grantaire in his bed that morning, or how Enjolras had gotten him there the night before, and suddenly it seemed hard to care about the mission.

“So what are your plans? Now that you've got me....” Enjolras asked, aiming for suggestive, but only achieving what sounded hesitant and awkward to himself.

Thankfully, it made Grantaire laugh, sounding delighted. He adjusted the makeshift bandage that was slipping off of Enjolras' arm and said “First of all, I think we're gonna patch you up. After that I guess we'll have to see.”

 

*

 

After leaving Floreal, Enjolras just wanted to get home. He needed to be somewhere quiet, where he knew he wouldn't be disturbed and he could sit alone with his thoughts for a while. He picked the quickest and least populated route through the building to an exit. This unfortunately turned out to lead him past a break room where Courfeyrac could be heard loudly arguing with Cabuc.

Enjolras had every intention of continuing past, but then he heard Grantaire's name and – and it was stupid, it shouldn't be a surprise, what else would people be arguing about today? - but he found himself stopping in his tracks.

“- out of line! You don't know _anything_ about the kind of person Grantaire is. Stop running your mouth if all you've got is that bullshit.” Courfeyrac said as Enjolras tiptoed closer to the door, careful to stay out of sight.

“Come on now, we all know he has mental issues. It can't be a shock to anyone that he cracked.” Cabuc's voice answered. Enjolras started moving into the room before Cabuc had finished completely.

Joly and Courfeyrac were by the coffee maker, both facing Cabuc and with their back to the door. Joly was explaining, outraged: “He had a _depression_ you insensitive - ” He was cut of when Courfeyrac leapt forward and slapped Cabuc across the face with enough force to make him stumble back.

“That's it.” Courfeyrac said, shaking his hand by his side like it hurt. “I demand satisfaction. Duel tomorrow, you can pick the place and weapons.”

Cabuc looked about to pick fists and right here. Given that Enjolras could recognize Courfeyrac's stormy expression just from seeing his back, it seemed unlikely either of them would wait until tomorrow if nobody intervened.

“ _Courfeyrac._ ” Enjolras snapped, hurrying forward to grab the back of Courfeyrac's shirt “Calm down.”

“You didn't hear what he said!” Courfeyrac protested, but let Enjolras pull him away from Cabuc and didn't protest when Enjolras planted himself between them. 

“I heard. Let it go. Now is not the time to pick fights.” Enjolras told Courfeyrac.

“Let it go?” Cabuc asked. “That's not like you, Enjolras. Could it be that you agree with me?”

It wasn't like Enjolras to let insults like that go and Cabuc would know it. Enjolras had once broken Cabuc's nose for insulting a complete stranger.

This time Enjolras simply told Cabuc, voice betraying nothing: “You should leave.”

Cabuc sent Enjolras a challenging grin. When Enjolras didn't respond, Cabuc raised his hands in mock surrender. “Whatever. You'll see I'm right soon enough.” He said, backing away. He paused on his way out the door to glare at Courfeyrac. “We'll finish this later.”

Joly let out an audible sigh when Cabuc was gone. “A _duel_?” He asked, incredulous.

“You're not allowed to watch the Three Musketeers anymore.” Enjolras told Courfeyrac. He only managed a fragment of the disapproval Joly had poured into his two words. All his energy seemed to have left the room with Cabuc.

Courfeyrac dismissed both of them with a light shake of his head, unconcerned, then stopped Enjolras with a hand on his shoulder when he tried to step away.

“How are you doing?” Courfeyrac asked.

“I'm... tired. I didn't get much sleep last night.” Enjolras said, looking at the ground.

“No, I suppose you wouldn't have.”  Joly said while Courfeyrac frowned at Enjolras.

“Did… His cat, did anyone…?” Enjolras asked haltingly.

“They brought her in with the rest of Grantaire’s stuff. She apparently didn’t much like it here, because they were very happy to release her into Jehan’s care.” Courfeyrac said. After a moment of expectant silence, he touched Enjolras' chin lightly, making him look up at Courfeyrac. “We've got your back, okay? Whatever this shitshow throws at us.”

“My back is fine. I'm just tired.” Enjolras said unconvincingly. He was terrible at lying to people he cared about, Grantaire had told him once. “I'm going home.”

“Now?” Courfeyrac asked surprised.

Enjolras nodded and slipped out of Courfeyrac's grip.

“Sleep is important.” Joly offered diplomatically, while sending Courfeyrac a significant.

Maybe they were worried Enjolras would disappear himself too, that he knew were Grantaire had gone. Maybe they thought Enjolras was in on whatever perfectly reasonable explanation there was for Grantaire's disappearance. That Enjolras was simply bidding his time. That Grantaire had warned him beforehand or had left him instructions or something – _anything_ – to reassure him of Grantaire's innocence.

If Grantaire had, Enjolras didn't know it yet.

Enjolras was afraid Grantaire hadn't.

 

*

 

Grantaire's first mission with Enjolras had also been Grantaire's first mission after a year of sick leave. The day before the mission Bossuet and Joly had taken it upon themselves to keep Grantaire distracted from any nerves that might crop up. As far as Enjolras could tell they were not entirely successful. By the time Enjolras joined them at the Corinthe, Grantaire had looked twitchy, fiddling with the zipper of his jacket while rambling disjointedly about determinism, 

Bossuet and Joly had eventually left Grantaire with Enjolras - “It wouldn't hurt if you bonded a little.” Bossuet had told Enjolras, apparently unaware that Enjolras had spent the last two weeks awkwardly attempting to flirt with Grantaire. This had made Enjolras worry _Grantaire_ was as unaware of his efforts as Bousset, which was why Enjolras dropped his plans of reassuring Grantaire about his abilities in the field and took Grantaire home and slept with him instead.

Enjolras would probably feel guilty about that if it hadn't proven very effective at relaxing Grantaire.

“This some sort of pre-mission ritual for you?” Grantaire had asked Enjolras afterward, looking attractively languid and rumpled in Enjolras' bed.

“No, but maybe it should be.” Enjolras said, entranced by the sheen of sweat in the hollow of Grantaire's throat. Enjolras had an unprecedented urge to taste it and was trying to decide whether licking Grantaire was acceptable behavior, or if enough time had passed since getting him off that it would be weird now.

“You'll have to wait and see how tomorrow goes before deciding that. You can't use a ritual that gives bad luck.” Grantaire pointed out, his voice neutral but with something hopeful in his eyes as he glanced at Enjolras.

“I'm not worried about tomorrow. We're both excellent agents.”  Enjolras said. “If something does go wrong, I'll have your back and I know you'll have mine. I trust you.”

Smiling, Grantaire took Enjolras' hand and kissed the back of it. “And what are you basing this trust on, Mr. Excellent Agent?” Grantaire asked. “The fact that Lamarqe approved me for field work or what you’ve just learned of me in bed?”

“I base it on having read your personnel files.” Enjolras admitted.

“You stole my personnel files?” Grantaire laughed, a low rumbling sound that made something in Enjolras’ stomach twist pleasantly. “That's almost romantic. Those are confidential, you could get in a lot of trouble for that.” Grantaire turned Enjolras' hand over and kissed his palm.

“I trust you won't tattle on me.” Enjolras said and, feeling bold, took his hand back and leaned over to offer his lips instead. Grantaire seemed happy with the exchange.

“I trust you.” Enjolras repeated, promised, and spent some time kissing the words into Grantaire's skin.

 

*

 

Whoever had searched Enjolras' apartment hadn't bothered cleaning up after themselves. Furniture had been moved and cupboards and drawers were open, most of their contents left hazardously scattered around. 

Enjolras picked his way through the mess to the kitchen. He checked the fridge for any new notes, then checked the floor around the fridge. Unsurprisingly, there was nothing. Enjolras habitually checked the fridge whenever Grantaire had been over. If Grantaire had left anything during his visit the previous night, Enjolras would have seen it before going to bed. Doubt had niggled at him all morning though, and he had had to make sure.

If Grantaire had wanted to leave Enjolras a message, he would have left a clue on the fridge. There was no other place Grantaire could expect Enjolras to look when he hadn't been told anything. Still, Enjolras went and checked around the CD player. Grantaire had never left notes there before, but Enjolras was desperate and had seen Grantaire messing with it the previous night.

Nothing.

“Come _on_.” Enjolras muttered, pulling at his hair. “He has to give me something.”

The empty apartment gave him no reply.

Having nothing else to go on, Enjolras started cleaning up the mess. He took his time sorting everything. Setting his possessions back to rights was as good a way as any to search the rest of the apartment for hidden messages.

He saved the kitchen for last, a decision he wasn't conscious of until he made it to the fridge again. It occurred to him he'd had a reason to avoid it when he started sorting all the old notes on the fridge door. The thought that someone else had gone through all of them bothered him. Someone had looked at the little messages Grantaire had left Enjolras, all the reminders and inside jokes and love letters. Someone had seen the doodle of Enjolras dressed as Ilsa Lund and had categorized and made a note of it on a report. Enjolras thought of these things for a moment and then he pushed the discomfort away. Invasions of privacy was a given he'd accepted when he entered the spying business.

Enjolras set about sorting the notes left on the floor, calm and efficient. Most of them needed to be thrown out anyway. There was a lot of old ones, since he usually only cleaned them out when there was no space left on the fridge. In the process of getting rid of them, he was bemused to discover that whoever had searched his trash had done him the decency of taking out the bag after. Had they taken it with them when they left, or had they paused their search to carry it out?

He was in the process of pinning the few notes he'd decided to keep back on the fridge when his phone rang. It was a number he didn't recognize. He picked it up immediately.

“Does he still keep it in the top drawer in the bedroom?” Floreal asked without preamble.

“Yes.”

“Then it's gone.”

“Okay.” Enjolras said, slowly, very conscious of keeping his voice devoid of emotion. “Thank you.”

Floreal made a short noise of acknowledgment and hung up.

 

*

 

“I don't think I can explain it... I don't know if you can understand it when you don't have any siblings yourself.” Grantaire had said the one time Enjolras had directly asked him about the start of his depression. It had been stupid on Enjolras' part, because he'd asked when Grantaire was already upset, was already running the necklace through his fingers like a rosary. Enjolras never knew what to do or say when Grantaire was like that, but he hadn't wanted to leave Grantaire alone with his grief and so had asked the first thing that came to mind.

“It's not like you and Combeferre, it’s not a friend you've known forever. Friends are not a good comparison to siblings – they can be your friend too, they can, but they are always your sister or brother first. Siblings you have no choice in, is the thing. They are these annoying rivals you're being forced to share everything with growing up. They are like your worst enemy and greatest ally at the same time. These absolute terrors that you love on some level even when you hate them. You can't _not_ love them. They're a part of you and they're always _there_. Your parents are gonna grow old and die but your siblings are your equals and you're supposed to – to continue judging their life choices and comparing them to your own... I don't know. It might be different when there's a bigger age difference. With us there was only two years. I don't remember any time before her, she has _always_ been there.”

Grantaire's voice had cracked alarmingly on the last part and he stopped, shaking his head and rubbing at his eyes. After a moment he continued, voice unsteady: “I was the _oldest_ , I never expected I would have to live in a world without my baby sister in it. I never... I didn't know how to handle it.”

“I'm sorry.” Enjolras said, not knowing what else to say. It drew Grantaire's attention back, which had seemed lost somewhere far off.

“No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't unload all over you like this.” Grantaire said, suddenly self-conscious. He curled the chain of the necklace into a small pile and made a fist around it, so it was hidden inside his hand. Enjolras had wondered if Grantaire thought his obvious upset would somehow disappear with it.

 

*

 

Like Tholomyès had promised, there was a briefing the next day, broadcast over every speaker in the building. Enjolras heard it from the safety of Combeferre's office, where nobody but Combeferre could watch him react.

Lamarque had been found dead in his office, shot in the head with his own gun. The coroner put his time of death between midnight and 1 AM. Every room in the building had security cameras, but all the feeds from that floor had been looped during that time, which was how Lamarque's body had been discovered. The guard on duty had noticed the loop around 2 AM and ordered the building searched.

The prime suspect was, of course, Grantaire. The speaker did not outright say he was guilty but spent most of the briefing outlining the reasons why they believed him to be.

First there was his tracker, which had been disabled at eleven that night – around an hour before Lamarque's estimated time of death. Secondly there was the footage of Grantaire exchanging _something_ with Montparnasse, a known associate of Thenardier, international crime lord, on Gare Du Nord, which Lamarque had sent to the director of the Lyon department shortly before his death. This footage was filmed 6 weeks ago, but they must have done some digging since Tholomyès told Enjolras about it, because a second video, dated three weeks before the first was also mentioned. The second video was similar to the first: Grantaire exchanging something with Montparansse on Gare Du Nord station. The earlier date was the problem, because it extended the time Grantaire had been acting rogue significantly.

The third piece of evidence was the bug found in Floreal's computer, sending confidential information out of the building. Floreal wasn't mentioned by name, but Enjolras assumed most people would figure it out since her job position was mentioned and the fact Grantaire had often visited her in the IT department.

Fourth and finally was several offshore accounts in Grantaire's name, where money had been deposited in the days following his filmed exchanges with Montparnasse.

“How do we know that?” Enjolras asked Combeferre, who in Enjolras' experience knew everything that happened in the building.

“We recruited a man in Singapore.” Combeferre said frowning. He picked up a tablet and started rapidly writing something on it. “They shouldn't have mentioned the accounts for everyone to hear, that source is still being established. We'll need to up the security on him.”

“With that bug in our system I don't think any of our sources are very secure at the moment.”  Tholomyès pointed out, appearing in Combeferre's doorway. “Enjolras, you ready for another talk?”

“Right now?” Combeferre asked and looked up from the tablet to direct his frown at Tholomyès instead.  Tholomyès seemed unaffected by Combeferre's disapproval.

“Time is rather important if we want to keep our people from getting hurt.”  Tholomyès pointed out, wearing a polite smile that did not match the topic.

“It's fine.” Enjolras cut in and got up from Combeferre's desk chair.

“Come get me when you're done.” Combeferre said in a tone that brooked no argument.

It was fine.

Enjolras was hooked up to the lie detector again and asked an unending series of uncomfortable, personal questions. The invasive questions were fine. After the first forty minutes Enjolras got used to answering them with little to no discomfort. Yes, Grantaire slept over at his place. He couldn't say how often, it varied with their schedule. Yes, he'd been to Grantaire's place. No, they rarely stayed there. No, he hadn't thought Grantaire had been hiding anything at the time, Enjolras' bed was just bigger and Grantaire’s cat hated him.

It was fine. He was fine. He was - until he'd been sitting there for more than two hours while they picked his brain for tiny details. Several times they asked for Grantaire's mood and behavior on specific days months back. After two hours of that he got tired.

What started bothering him was the questions he couldn't answer. How often did Grantaire talk with his family? Why had he started requesting long-term undercover mission five months ago, despite never showing an interest in them before and against all recommendations? Where would he go if he needed to hide?

“If I knew that I wouldn't be here doing nothing, would I?” Enjolras snapped.

Tholomyès seemed pleased by this, briefly, before his expression smoothed back into the carefully neutral expression he'd been wearing throughout the process. “So you don't know.” he said, putting down the tablet he'd been reading from.

“I thought we covered that last time.” Enjolras ground out, not bothering to hide his anger.

“We did.”  Tholomyès agreed mildly. “I guess we're done for now.”

Enjolras was out of the room the instant Babet unhooked him from the machine, not giving Tholomyès a chance to ask any last minute questions this time.

 

*

 

Grantaire’s requests for long-term undercover missions were odd. Not just because he’d never shown any interest in them before, but also because the psych evaluation he’d had upon being hired had explicitly advised against it. A second evaluation, conducted when he returned from sick leave, had agreed with that initial assessment.

Grantaire himself had never given Enjolras an explanation for his sudden change of interests. Grantaire hadn't even told Enjolras that he filed the requests. Each time Enjolras found out because it turned up when he made Combeferre get him Grantaire's latest mission reports.

“You'd be away for months at a time, years potentially. You didn't think that's something I ought to know?”

“I didn't tell you because they're not going to give it to me anyway.” Had been Grantaire's explanation the first time, careless.

“I would tell you if it became relevant, if they assigned me something.” Grantaire had said the second time, a few months later, sounding tired.

Enjolras had asked Lamarque about it that time, who had clearly been surprised Enjolras knew anything about it.

“I can't tell you what Grantaire is thinking, but between you and me I wouldn't worry he's going anywhere.” Lamarque had told Enjolras in a voice that made it clear he would say no more on the subject.

The third time Grantaire filed a request was two months before Lamarque died. When Enjolras had brought it up Grantaire had responded with anger.

“Why do you keep going into my personnel files? It's _insane_ , Enjolras! On all other points you treat this job like a fucking holy calling and yet you routinely ask Combeferre to break tons of rules so you can snoop on your boyfriend. You're not my _boss_ , Enjolras, I don't need you inspecting my work!” Grantaire had exploded.

“I'm not _inspecting_ your work.” Enjolras denied. “Maybe I wouldn't feel the need to check your files if you ever told me anything, Grantaire.”

“Maybe I would tell you more if you gave me the chance. What's the point in telling you how the mission went when you've already read the reports? When you've already read the blow-by-blow and my debrief and the team leaders debrief and mission controls assessment? You know, maybe I would like to tell you how well I think it went without you already having judged the entire thing. Maybe it would be nice to be able to do my job without the knowledge that you're gonna be judging everything I do later. It's not like I don't have enough insecurities without that constantly hanging over my head.”

Enjolras knew these were complaints Grantaire had mentioned to him before – although, in his defense, each time had been in offhand comments that had hidden the sincerity of them. And if it had really bothered Grantaire, Enjolras had rationalized, he could just have asked Combeferre to stop enabling Enjolras.

Later, with a cool head, Enjolras was able to recognize that this were bad excuses – that Enjolras should have stopped snooping the first time Grantaire had expressed a dislike for it. That Grantaire shouldn't have to go to Combeferre to make it stop. But in the heat of the moment, in the middle of a fight Grantaire had started, Enjolras didn't know how to back down. He only knew how to fight fire with fire.

They had a fight. A vicious one even for them. So no, despite several attempts, Enjolras never got an explanation for why Grantaire had started filing requests for long-term undercover work. All he knew was that Grantaire would rather start a fight about something else than talk to Enjolras about it.

 

*

 

“Why does the necklace being gone matter so much?” Courfeyrac asked Enjolras later that day. They were spending their lunch break in one of Paris' less touristy parks, going through all the evidence with Bossuet and Combeferre.

“It means he knew he wasn’t coming back.” Enjolras said. “It’s gone because he wouldn’t leave it behind. It means he had the time to go back for it or he knew he wasn't coming back when he left home that day.”

“And if he had time or knew he wasn't coming back, he could have left a message for you or someone else” Combeferre completed the thought for Enjolras. “But as far as we know he didn't.”

“What if he was worried about it getting intercepted? The agency did search all of our homes. Did he have a safe way to leave a message?” Courfeyrac asked.

“We've got a couple of basic signals for trouble.” Bossuet said. “Nothing that says 'I've been framed', but he could have given me 'I'm going into hiding'.”

“He could have found a way to tell me.” Enjolras said. “We have a code with nearly infinite options. It's based on numbers, so he could easily have masked it as something else: dates, phone numbers, coordinates... Not to mention he was in my apartment that night.”

“Just because he had the opportunity to leave a message and didn't doesn't mean he's guilty.” Courfeyrac insisted.

“Nobody thinks that.” Bossuet said firmly, looking to Combeferre and Enjolras for agreement.

“It's not proof of anything.” Enjolras said.

“ _Enjolras_.” Courfeyrac said, sounding alarmed.

“But?” Combeferre said at the same time, tone coaxing.

“If Grantaire told me he didn't do it, I'd believe him. I'd believe him over... There could be his DNA and fingerprints on the murder weapon, a video showing Grantaire shooting Lamarque, taped recordings of him admitting to making deals with crime lords. It wouldn't matter. If he'd left me a note saying 'I didn't do it', I'd believe him, no proof or explanations needed. But _he didn't_.” Enjolras said, letting his frustration show. “He had the time, he was talking to me in my apartment _hours_ before. And I'm.... I'm not saying he's guilty, but if he wanted me to believe he was innocent he could have done so very easily, and he decided not to.”

A long moment of silence followed Enjolras' admission. Courfeyrac turned to Combeferre and had a quick and silent conversation with him, communicated solely through significant glances and subtle twitches. Used to this behavior from the two of them, Enjolras looked to Bossuet, whose reaction he was more concerned about anyway. Enjolras didn't like quantifying relationships in such a way, but Bossuet was closer to Grantaire than to Enjolras. They were friends, good friends, but if Bossuet had to pick only one, Enjolras was certain he would prioritize Grantaire over Enjolras. Meanwhile, Courfeyrac and Combeferre were Enjolras' best friends. If anyone was going to resent Enjolras for his doubt in Grantaire it would be Bossuet.

Bossuet met Enjolras' eyes with a searching look, his expression not giving anything else away. Enjolras’ pangs of guilt increased exponentially.

“Sorry.” Enjolras told Bossuet, quietly enough he hoped Courfeyrac and Combeferre, distracted as they were, wouldn't hear.

Bossuet shook his head once and reached over to bump Enjolras' shoulder companionably. “So he didn't tell us what happened. That just means we'll have to figure it out ourselves. Investigate. We're supposed to be good at that kinda thing.”

“Speak for yourself. I just go where I'm told and shoot the most evil-looking guy there.” Courfeyrac joked and drew a goatee in the air around his mouth with a finger.

That was a deeply untrue. Courfeyrac was one of the best at charming information out of people without them noticing, perhaps only superseded by Grantaire. Courfeyrac followed the bold-faced lie up with the question: “Who else knew Grantaire wouldn't leave without the necklace?”

“You think someone else might have taken it to trick Enjolras?” Combeferre asked.

“I think we need to be certain Grantaire really left under his own power. If he did, we can assume he's safe. If he didn't we need to work faster.”

“I don't think... He didn't talk about it and he never took it out of the apartment.” Bossuet said. “So people who has been in his home while he was upset. As far as I know that's me, Joly... His family maybe, Jehan probably, Floreal maybe. He might have mentioned it to his therapist... Enjolras?”

“Floreal knew.” Enjolras confirmed before shaking his head “I seriously doubt any of those people would have taken Grantaire and then stolen the necklace to cover it.”

“Floreal is smart enough to pull it off if she wanted to.” Bossuet said, half-joking.

“There might be something in that.” Combeferre said, serious. “Grantaire couldn't have erased those video-files from the system the way it was done. He's good enough at following instructions that he can do the basics, but he couldn't have hacked himself access to the system the video-files are kept on, not even with help. Somebody else with the access or who is very good at hacking have to have done it.”

“Could Grantaire have done it if he had Floreal's access?” Enjolras asked “Because he does know her codes.”

Very rarely did anything catch Combeferre by surprise. This turned out to be one of those rare occasions.

 “What?” Combeferre asked, face going pale.

 

*

 

Grantaire had made Enjolras stupid. Especially those first couple of weeks.

Enjolras had been aware of it and incapable of stopping it. Enjolras rarely liked people the way he liked Grantaire. He could count on one hand the number of people he’d ever wanted like that. He had so little practice at controlling it. But the first time he’d heard Grantaire laugh, there’d been the unfamiliar twisting _want_ in his gut and Enjolras had been screwed – figuratively. And then literally a couple of weeks later.

After their first mission together, Enjolras and Grantaire had a week off-duty to recuperate. They spent most of it in bed, Enjolras’ injured arm barely slowing them down. When they finally did leave bed a few days in, they had gone into work, down into the shooting range at night when they could be sure it would be empty. They brought a breathalyzer and a water bottle filled with vodka, and Grantaire proceeded to prove how capable he was under the influence.

After half an hour of shooting with a blood alcohol content around 0.08%, Grantaire's accuracy averaged a couple of points below the average listed in his file – well within the normal range of variation you could expect from day-to-day.

“You weren't kidding.” Enjolras had said. “That must have taken a lot of practice. How much time have you spent drunk on this shooting range?”

“None.” Grantaire grinned, eyes bright. “I'm not stupid enough to practice it here. Excluding today. Are you impressed with me? You look impressed.”

Enjolras had been very impressed, so much it overshadowed his earlier disapproval of the idea. He'd also been fascinated by how Grantaire swaggered a little with satisfaction during this demonstration, no hint of self-recrimination on his face for once. This was not helped by how inebriation made all his movements looser in a way that reminded Enjolras of Grantaire after sex. A lot of what Grantaire did reminded Enjolras of sex those first couple of weeks. It was a problem.

“I'm impressed.” Enjolras had agreed.

“Ah, sweet vindication. Do I get a prize?” Grantaire had asked.

In response Enjolras pushed Grantaire against the wall of the shooting booth and went to his knees. Grantaire started saying something about only expecting a kiss, but it trailed off into something unintelligible when Enjolras mouthed at the skin below Grantaire's navel. Despite his right arm still being hurt from the mission, Enjolras made quick work of undoing Grantaire's pants. Enjolras then spent a good while entirely focused on what other noises he could make Grantaire make. It wasn't until later, when Grantaire had pulled him up again and was working his hand into Enjolras' pants that Enjolras remembered the cameras.

It was like a bucket of cold water. Enjolras recoiled from Grantaire cursing loudly. He whirled around to check the security cameras, hoping they'd been standing in a blind-spot. They hadn't, because the cameras had been placed to avoid blind-spots. At this point Grantaire figured out what was happening and started laughing.

“ _Grantaire._ ” Enjolras snapped, turning back to glare at him.

“Oh, you can't possibly blame me.” Grantaire protested, laughing a little while doing up his pants “I'm not legally allowed to drive right now.”

“No, but would you _stop laughing_. We need to – shit.” Enjolras said, unable to think of anything they could do. He pulled anxiously at his hair. “Shit. How could I do this?”

“Aw sweetheart, don't panic. Come here.” Grantaire said, reaching out for him.

Enjolras stared at the offered hand for a moment, shoulders hunched, before giving in. This. This was how Enjolras had gotten in trouble.

Clearly suppressing a laugh, Grantaire did up Enjolras' pants while pressing a quick kiss to the top of his head. “No reason to panic yet. I know another trick I think might work here.”

Grantaire took Enjolras' hand and led him out of the shooting range. First he stopped by a restroom and stuck his head under a faucet running cold water for a while. This increased Enjolras' confidence in whatever plan Grantaire had, since Grantaire apparently thought it required a clear head. Next he took them to the IT department, which looked empty, except for light streaming out beneath the closed door of one the conference rooms. Grantaire held a finger to his lips and led them – still holding Enjolras' hand - to a desk in the corner of the main floor, which Enjolras would later learn was Floreal's work area.

Grantaire slumped into the desk chair, dragged another chair over from the neighboring desk by hooking his ankle around the leg, and indicated for Enjolras to sit as well.

“I might be able to hide the video, but first you have to be sure you want me to” Grantaire said, pushing wet hair out of his face. “There's a guard monitoring the video-feeds at all times and, let's face it, that was probably the most interesting thing happening in this building at the time -” Grantaire winked “ - So there's a good chance whoever is on-duty already saw it. If they saw, there's no fixing that. Secondly, if I'm caught we'll got more trouble for interfering with the video files than we'll get for accidentally making a sex-tape... What do you want?”

“I think I need you to tell me who taught you to do that? I mean, how likely are you to be caught?” Enjolras asked.

Grantaire considered it for a moment before shrugging. “I saw Floreal do it once and paid attention because it seemed useful. So... well, I assume Floreal knows what she's doing, but it depends on how much faith you have in my ability to duplicate it.”

“You must be pretty confident in your abilities if you're offering.” Enjolras pointed out.

“You can't trust my judgement on that. I just want an opportunity to impress you again. It worked out really well for me last time.” Grantaire said with a grin.

Enjolras felt his face heat up but didn't otherwise let his embarrassment show. “You shouldn't get your hopes up. I'm not doing anything like that again in this building.” Enjolras answered, studiously calm.

“Oh, not in _this_ building?” Grantaire asked and pulled Enjolras' chair a little closer with his foot. The movement made some hair fall into his face again, which drew Enjolras' attention for a moment. Grantaire's hair was still dripping slightly, small beads running down his skin.

“Yeah, I think your chances are good in other buildings.” Enjolras admitted.

“I guess I better get to work so we can get out of this one then.” Grantaire said and opened the desk drawer, looking for something. “I'm gonna need the date to get access. Assuming you want to risk it and let me try this.”

“It's the 8th. Why do you need the date?”

Grantaire pulled up a pen and a crumbled-up receipt. “To figure out Floreal's passwords. They have to change them every day and she had trouble remembering, so she made a code to generate them based on the date.” Grantaire smoothed out the receipt, wrote the date at the top and started drawing a grid below, but stopped half-way through and glanced up at Enjolras with a frown. “Don't look.”

“And she gave you that?” Enjolras asked suspiciously.

“No. But she's typed in passwords while I was around plenty of times, so I had a couple of them memorized.” Grantaire explained, shrugging in a way that communicated 'as-you-do'. Enjolras nodded. He recognized that compulsion himself. “When she agreed to marry the banker, I got mad at her and I sat down and figured out the code from her old passwords. And I know that was shitty of me, which is why you can't have it too. Turn around.”

Enjolras didn't argue but made a point of sighing loudly before turning his chair around so he was facing the opposite direction. He could hear the pen scratch over paper and Grantaire muttering something under his breath, counting. Eventually, Grantaire made a triumphant noise and got up. Enjolras turned around and watched as Grantaire started searching through the drawers of the neighboring desks.

“Were you jealous of the banker?” Enjolras asked.

“God no.” Grantaire said, pausing in his search to look back at Enjolras. He sounded amused at the idea. “Me and Floreal were never a couple. Our relationship actually improved a great deal when we stopped having sex. I just don't trust bankers because my brother is one. Floreal could do so much better.” While explaining, Grantaire moved on to the next desk, where he found what he was looking for. He pulled up a lighter and made a show of setting the receipt on fire, before dumping the burning paper in a mug that had been left on the same desk.

“You don't get along with your brother?” Enjolras asked as Grantaire walked back to him.

“No, we're fine. It's more the principle of the thing.” Grantaire shrugged, sitting down. He studied Enjolras for a moment before adding. “You don't have any siblings do you? I can tell by your confused expression.”

“No.” Enjolras admitted, begrudgingly. “I've known Combeferre since I was eleven.”

“Oh, that is not remotely the same thing as a sibling.” Grantaire said, amused again. “Now, look away again while I type this in.”

Enjolras sighed loudly again but did as he was asked. “Should I just get comfortable pointing this way or...?” Enjolras asked.

“I'm done now. You can look.” Grantaire answered a moment later.

Enjolras turned back around and scooted his chair closer. He silently watched over Grantaire's shoulder as Grantaire edited the video, removing the evidence of Enjolras' indescretion. It didn't once occur to Enjolras, during this process or after, that there was anything worrisome about Grantaire having that ability. It wasn't until many months later, with Lamarque dead and every speaker in the building talking about cameras being tampered with, that Enjolras felt any apprehension about Grantaire having more access to the security system than anyone had intended or knew about.

No, what Enjolras had been thinking while Grantaire edited video-files, was how this proved again how clever Grantaire was, and by extension, how good he was at his job. Secondly, and slightly more pressing on his mind at the time, Enjolras had also thought about the drop of water running down the side of Grantaire's neck, and how the collar of Grantaire's t-shirt was wet and clinging to his skin.

It was a problem.

 

*

 

Five days after Lamarque died, Enjolras took Floreal out for coffee.

Originally, Combeferre had wanted to be the one to talk to her, but Enjolras had insisted that he ought to do it. It was one of the few things Enjolras could do that wouldn’t raise any flags. He’d banned himself from any other legwork in their search for Grantaire, since he seemed to be the one the agency was watching the closest.

At least that was what Enjolras told Combeferre, although it didn’t quite cover it. Enjolras had spent the last few days reexamining his memories of Grantaire, looking for clues of deception. From his short conversation with Floreal, it seemed she had been doing the same thing. He suspected Floreal’s mixed feelings were similar to his own. If someone had to give her evidence that Grantaire had taken advantage of the trust she’d shown him, Enjolras wanted to be the one to do it. She’d offered to talk if Enjolras needed to and Enjolras wanted to return the favor. If nothing else, it might help settle his own jumbled thoughts on the subject.

This understanding aside, Enjolras didn’t expect the intensity of Floreal’s response. Blood drained from her face and she sat her cup down on the table with such force coffee spilled on her hand, which she didn’t seem to notice. She covered her face with her coffee-stained hands and bent over until her forehead hovered just above the table, whispering curse words into the small space created there.

Enjolras stared at her in surprise, unsure whether he should try to comfort her or just let her get it out of her system first. He had seen her be dramatic before, but it had always been carefully controlled dramatics. Like an actress, who used her expressions to the fullest effect. She would have made an excellent field agent if she wasn’t too intelligent for it, Grantaire had told Enjolras once. In contrast, this response seemed artless and uncontrolled, which might be why she was hiding her face.

“You okay?” Enjolras asked, awkwardly, when she didn’t show any sign of stopping the steady stream of cursewords.

“You don’t understand just how bad this is, do you?” Floreal asked, not bothering to lift her head. “I’m gonna have to go back and change everything I’ve touched to make sure nobody can take advantage of that code.”

“He didn’t let me see it, if that helps.” Enjolras tried.

Floreal looked up at that, glaring at him over the top of her fingers. “He didn’t let you see, or he didn’t let you see the code itself, but let enough details slip that you can figure it out yourself?” She asked acidly.

“He didn’t let me see anything.” Enjolras promised.

“What a sweetheart.” Floreal said sarcastically. She straightened up again and crossed her arms, her gaze narrowing in on Enjolras, assessing. He got the distinct impression she was deciding whether to be angry at him too.

“Did he tell you what video files he saw me erase?” She asked after a moment, voice calmer but still with something calculating in her eyes.

“No.” Enjolras said and paused to pick his words carefully. “But I assumed it was something similar to what he erased for me.”

Floreal smiled slightly. “We had a game, me and my neighbors at the corner desks. It was a list of dares and you got more points for the harder ones. Grantaire helped me win. The others miscalculated in including that dare, none of them had partners with clearance for that floor.” She explained, some pride in her tone.

“Do all your dares include erasing the evidence afterwards?”

“Not usually. Interfering with security would get us in more trouble than any of the dares could. But it was Grantaire’s condition for helping that I’d remove it afterwards.” Floreal said with a sigh. Her expression darkened, clearly aware this sounded bad for Grantaire. “He asked to see me do it. To make sure it was gone.”

“When was this?” Enjolras asked.

“Years ago. Before I met David.” Floreal said and wiggled her hand a little, drawing Enjolras’ eyes to her wedding ring. Then she picked up her coffee and took a sip.  She watched Enjolras for a moment before asking: “When was yours?”

“About a year ago.”

“You’d just started dating.” Floreal said. “Were you jealous? When you guessed what kind of videos I’d been erasing?”

Enjolras considered it before answering. “No.” He said honestly.

“No.” Floreal agreed, sounding almost fond. “Why would you? The way he looked at you - Those first months after he came back, you were one of the only things that could reliably make him smile.”

“Yes… And now - ” Enjolras paused, hesitant, before admitting. “The last couple of weeks he was worse around me than he was around anyone else. More irritable, more erratic.”

Floreal was quiet for a while, which Enjolras appreciated, because it meant she’d thought it through when she responded: “I’ve been thinking that his… moods the last weeks were evidence in his favor. He’s a good actor. If he was trying to hide something he could have faked normal.” She tilted her head questioningly at Enjolras.

“He’s a good actor.” Enjolras agreed.

Floreal nodded and continued “That he was different around you, though – worse around you – that does change things. It could be guilt, instead. It would make sense if he had a harder time hiding that around you.”

“Maybe it was worse around me because his bad moods were caused by me.” Enjolras said.

“So domestic trouble rather than treason?”

“I’m not saying one precludes the other.” Enjolras said, which came out more pained than he had intended.

“Are you suggesting Grantaire sold national secrets to a crime lord because you were a bad boyfriend?” Floreal asked. Her tone was bemused, but there was a glint in her eye that turned the comment into mockery.

“ _No_.” Enjolras snapped, stung, and then didn’t say more. He regretted having told her anything.

“I’m sorry. I’ll be serious.” Floreal said, looking chastised. “You meant you’re worried he didn’t tell you what was going on because he was upset with you, yes? I won’t tease again. I did say you could talk to me about it if you wanted.”

“I’d rather we talked about what you taught him to do.” Enjolras answered levelly.

Floreal’s lips tightened, then she sighed and nodded. “Alright. What he saw me do isn’t anything like what was done to the security system that night. But with my passwords it wouldn’t be impossible for him to pull off.”

“You sure?”

“He couldn’t do it from scratch himself. He would need an expert to figure it out and show him the necessary steps, but with a little instruction he could do it. He’s got a good memory for that sort of thing – clearly.” She said with a dark twist of her mouth. “I take it, by the way, that you haven’t told anyone else about this yet? Since I’m having this conversation here with you, and not in one of the interrogation rooms with a polygraph machine?”

“Combeferre knows.” Enjolras said.

“But not Tholomyès, who keeps dragging you in for more questions?”

Enjolras squashed down a smile. “He hasn’t asked about it.”

“He hasn’t asked whether Grantaire knew a way to interfere with the cameras?” Floreal asked, incredulous.

“No.” Enjolras said honestly.

“What in the world have they been asking you about instead?”

“The questions have been more… personal than technical.” Enjolras said delicately. “Lately, it seems to me they’re more concerned with figuring out where I stand than on getting any new knowledge on Grantaire.”

“Mind games, huh?” Floreal said with a frown. Enjolras shrugged. “Well, thank you anyway. For covering for me.”

Enjolras didn’t think he really deserved that, giving that it hadn’t been her he’d been covering for when he’d kept that story from Tholomyès. He was sure she knew that too.

“You’re welcome.” He said anyway, mostly out of politeness.

 

*

 

According to Grantaire, everybody had a self-serving asshole somewhere inside of them. There was a difference in how many layers you had to scratch past before you got to it, but there would always be an asshole somewhere in people’s psyche, ready to spring out when pressed enough. He didn’t believe this could change either. For him human nature was set in stone. It doomed history to be a never-ending cycle of struggle and disaster, with the few peaceful moments temporary and far between.

In Enjolras’ experience, when people said that kind of thing it was usually to justify their own selfish behavior. With Grantaire though, this didn’t seem to be the case. When Enjolras expressed his own belief that they should – and could – work towards making the future a better place, Grantaire went quiet and watched Enjolras with a mix of envy and admiration.

“I don’t know how you get out of bed everyday with that kind of outlook” Enjolras had told him.

“For a while there I didn’t, which is why I’ve now got a therapist.” Grantaire pointed out. “But nowadays I’ve realized I’d rather be miserable in good company than be miserable all alone, which usually requires getting out of bed – except for when you’re in it.” He’d winked and Enjolras had been charmed despite the seriousness of the subject.

It took watching Grantaire in action, but eventually Enjolras did figure out how Grantaire could gain people’s trust so quickly. He did it by offering a piece of himself in return. He’d tell them a secret, something true and important. In that way it did fit Grantaire’s own description of it, that he didn’t fake anything. He made himself vulnerable, offered his throat to this person he’d just met, and most people couldn’t help but respond positively to such trust.

“How does this fit with your theory of human nature?” Enjolras had asked Grantaire. “Because you seem to work on the assumption that people will respond in kind when you show them trust.”

“Yeah, and then we use what they tell me against them.” Grantaire had answered wryly. “But I don’t think it’s necessarily trust. Maybe they don’t see me as a threat because I’m stupid enough to show them weakness from the start.”

No matter why it worked, Enjolras thought this approach explained why Grantaire couldn’t do long-term undercover missions. He gave too much of himself in exchange when he lied. If he had to keep it up for extended periods of time he’d hollow himself out, because it really was important pieces of himself Grantaire offered up.

The mission where Enjolras figured it out, he’d heard Grantaire tell the target about his sister’s car crash. Enjolras’ had known the facts, but he’d never heard them from Grantaire, and there was something in the halting way Grantaire told it that convinced him Grantaire had never told the full story with this much detail before.

The morning before their first mission together - during breakfast, after Grantaire had borrowed Enjolras’ shower and was smelling of Enjolras’ body wash – Grantaire had told Enjolras a secret too. Something nobody else knew.

In that case it hadn’t won Grantaire Enjolras’ trust, because Enjolras had already promised it to him the night before, kissing the words into his skin. Enjolras had been pleased with that when he thought back on it later. Grantaire hadn’t had to trade to earn anything from Enjolras, but he had offered Enjolras a secret anyway.

Although he supposed it also made him the stupid one, being the first to show weakness.


	2. Chapter 2

 

Enjolras called Jehan on the sixth day after Lamarque’s death. The sun was just rising but Enjolras had been awake for a long time before that. He couldn’t sleep, and in the long quiet hours before the next day started the emptiness of his apartment had been bothering him like never before. The silence had been pressing in from all sides like something physical. Eventually he gave in and grabbed his phone. Jehan was the best choice given the early hour. He worked in Intelligence, doing something Enjolras did not have clearance to know, but which allowed Jehan to keep odd and irregular hours.

“How’s the cat?” Enjolras asked when Jehan picked up.

There was a beat of confused silence. “Okay. She misses her dad.” Jehan answered eventually.

“Yeah, I bet.” Enjolras said.

There was another, longer moment of silence. Jehan was waiting for something from Enjolras, Enjolras could tell. Enjolras couldn’t think of anything to say though, and found himself enjoying simply having Jehan there, quiet except for the sound of his breathing.

” You want to see her?” Jehan asked when it became clear Enjolras had nothing to say.

Enjolras snorted. “No.”

Enjolras wasn’t good with animals in general, but the pointed way Grantaire’s cat disliked him was beyond the norm. She’d made her dislike clear with judicious application of claws. They’d come to a truce which worked for both of them: he didn’t touch her, and she pretended he didn’t exist.

In contrast she undoubtedly adored Grantaire. She’d purr loudly when Grantaire picked her up and would come sit on Grantaire whenever he sat down, as long as Enjolras wasn’t too close by. The feeling had seemed mutual to Enjolras. Freya was her name, because all cats were godly according to Grantaire. He rarely called her that, only on the rare occasion he mildly rebuked her for something - like attacking Enjolras. Otherwise it was “my darling” or “my heart” or “beautiful one”, even when talking about her to others.

Grantaire had still left her though. He’d taken the time to get the necklace, but had left her behind, alone, waiting for him to return.

“You okay? It’s kind of early for you to be calling. Something up?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” Enjolras admitted. “I’ve…. The last couple of days. Haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Not surprising. You must have a lot on your mind.” Jehan said. “But missing sleep can’t be making it easier.”

Enjolras huffed weakly “It’s really not.”

There was another expectant silence from Jehan, waiting for Enjolras to elaborate. Enjolras really didn’t want to. He was tired of talking about his thoughts and feelings. He did that enough with Tholomyès’ long string of questions every day, endlessly prying, assessing. Enjolras couldn’t tell if he was honestly looking for something or simply trying to wear Enjolras down. If it was the second one, it was very effective.

“Tell me what you've been up to.” Enjolras said. “Have you discovered any groundbreaking new artists recently?”

It didn't take much prodding to get Jehan to talk at great length about some Italian woman who was mixing bodypaint and sculpture. Enjolras didn’t know much of anything about either bodypainting or sculpture, but once Jehan got started he wasn’t required to do more than make the appropriate noises to show he was still listening. Jehan happily continued talking with minimal prompting until Enjolras had to leave.

Six days turned out to be how long it took Tholomyès to finally decide Enjolras could be trusted. The ever-present lie detector was nowhere to be seen when Enjolras entered Tholomyès’ office. Even more surprising: rather than asking questions, Tholomyès instead greeted Enjolras by handing him a mission brief.

“I thought the department was on lock-down until the extend of the breach could be determined.” Enjolras said, alarm bells going off in his head.

“We are, but it’s been agreed we can make an exception with this one, since it might speed up the process.” Tholomyès said and he waved a hand toward the file, indicating for Enjolras to open it.

Enjolras did and quickly skimmed through the mission parameters.

“Madeleine?” Enjolras questioned, struggling to mask his suspicion as mild curiosity. “You want me to steal the evidence he has against the Thenardiers? I thought he was still willing to trade it for a pardon.”

“He is, but we don’t have the time to finish negotiating the deal. Every year Madeleine invites his employees to his house on Mardi Gras, which is next week. Intel suggest the Thenardiers are going to take this opportunity to make a move on the files, and we haven’t even picked a replacement for Marius Pontmercy yet.” Tholomyès said.

Enjolras grimaced at the reminder of Marius’ bungle. Madeleine had been a special case. He’d turned himself in, originally, offering evidence on the Thenardiers in exchange for a pardon for crimes nobody had suspected him of until he himself confessed to them. Normally their branch of the agency wouldn’t have handled the minutia of such a deal, but Madeleine, although cooperative on the surface, had a deeper mistrust of law enforcement. It had been decided he’d need delicate handling so as not to spook him and lose the evidence. Marius had been picked as the go-between because he was the most harmless-looking of the qualified agents. After the first day Marius returned convinced he was madly in love with Madeleine’s daughter. All negotiations had come to a screeching halt a few days later, when Madeleine discovered them secretly meeting in his own garden.

Tholomyès reached across the desk and turned a couple of pages in the file, still in Enjolras’ hands, before pointing to a section.

“The sample Madeleine gave us contained classified information, which indicates the Thenardiers had a source somewhere in our organization. With all of Madeleine’s files we might be able to determine the extent of this breach. So, you see why it’s important we get these files from Madeleine as soon as possible. And why we can’t let the Thenardiers destroy them.”

“And why are you giving this to me?”

“Two reasons.” Tholomyès said. “We don’t have time to create a new cover that will hold up to Madeleine’s security and you have an old one that should get you in. Secondly, we think the Thenardiers are going to send Grantaire.”

“We’re assuming he’s with the Thenardiers right now?” Enjolras asked, a little hoarse. He paused to clear his throat and when he continued his voice was perfectly neutral. “I didn’t know that was the working theory.”

“Not necessarily. We don’t know where he currently is, but we assume that if the Thenardiers do have him at their disposal they will send him. As far as we know they don’t have anybody else in their employ better suited to the task.” Tholomyès said, making a show of looking apologetic.

“We would too.” Enjolras said before he could stop himself.

“What was that?” Tholomyès asked and Enjolras had to repeat himself. To his annoyance it only made Tholomyès smile.

“Exactly.” Tholomyès agreed. “This is the kind of mission Grantaire usually got picked for. The Thenardiers aren’t stupid. If they can use him for this, they will.”

“So you’re sending me?” Enjolras said, making it a question.

“You know him very well.”

“I’m not the best pick if you want someone who knows how he works. I’ve only run four missions with him, it’s near double digits for Bossuet and Bahorel. Feuilly has supervised nearly all of his missions.” Enjolras pointed out, not mentioning that he knew this because he had illegally gotten his hands on all Grantaire’s mission files.

“But you’re the one we can get in the door.” Tholomyès said, a hard note entering his voice. It must have been a slip, because immediately after Tholomyès smiled a little too amiably, trying to cover for it.

Enjolras pretended not to have noticed and decided to stop questioning the plan. It would be safer to play along for now.

“Can I ask a question, sir?” Enjolras asked, filling the last word with respect – overplaying it a bit, but Tholomyès hadn’t worked enough with him to recognize it as out of character.

“Of course.” Tholomyès said, friendly again.

“Are you my handler for this mission? Officially?”

Tholomyès smile dimmed. “Not _officially_ I’m afraid, not yet. But unofficially, yes, you will be reporting to me. We’re keeping this mission out of the system until the extent of our security breach has been determined. That means everything in that file is for your eyes only. Understood?”

“Understood.”

 

*

 

The fourth mission Grantaire and Enjolras had together was also the last they would ever have together, because afterwards Enjolras had asked Feuilly to put a recommendation against it in his file. 

It had been nearly two months before Lamarque died, shortly after Enjolras had questioned Grantaire’s requests for long-term undercover work for the third time. Shortly after the big fight that made Enjolras stop reading Grantaire’s mission briefs.

As far as reaching mission objectives, it had gone better than their first one. Enjolras had nearly been shot again, but they’d gotten the information they’d come for and got out without sustaining anything more serious than bruises. The problem had been afterwards. With the mess they’d made getting out, neither of them could take part in the last part of the mission. They’d planned for this possibility though, and had a safehouse ready, where they could wait it out while Bossuet got the information they needed and tied up the loose ends.

And wait they did, for six hours.

Two hours in Grantaire started blaming Enjolras for them getting stuck in the safehouse, claiming Enjolras was bad at lying. Enjoras responded in kind, criticizing Grantaire for drinking on the job. The petty argument quickly escalated until both of them were yelling. They were both saying things they’d later regret – the point where Grantaire would usually end the fight by leaving. But he couldn’t this time. They were stuck together in an enclosed space for the forseeable future. Grantaire had tried retreating to the kitchen, which worked for all of five minutes before he came back, complaining that the walls were so thin he could hear Enjolras feeling superior through them.

Four hours in Enjolras still couldn’t get himself to calm down because Grantaire was _wrong_ and _unreasonable_. In a moment of desperation, he nearly agreed when Grantaire mockingly suggested they settle it with fists. Both of them were too stubborn to give up their argument outright. The only way out was if they could both _stop talking_ somehow, without either having to admit defeat.

Grantaire must have felt similarly because shortly after he shut them both up by pushing Enjolras against a wall and kissing him roughly, more teeth than lips. Enjolras, as always, had no resistance to Grantaire. With Grantire pressed all along his front, mouth demanding on his and hands pulling at fabric to get to skin, Enjolras found all higher thought evaporating and immediately responded in kind.

Sex with Grantaire was usually _fun_. Grantaire would call Enjolras by ridicoulos pet names. Enjolras would pretend to dislike the silly pet names and would retaliate by taking advantage of Grantaire’s many ticklish spots. It was usually happy and, more than anything else, loving. What happened in the safehouse was not any of those things. It wasn’t bad sex, in itself. Enjolras couldn’t say that he didn’t enjoy it. But afterwards something felt… off between them. They didn’t talk after. They simply parted and spent the rest of the time in the safehouse quietly ignoring each other. It didn’t clear the air between them, as Enjolras had hoped, but made it more oppresive, made it harder to say anything at all.

Feuilly had looked unimpressed when Enjolras had told him he couldn’t do missions with Grantaire anymore.

“From what I know, neither of you have made any mistakes. We never expected your cover to hold if mr. Fauven showed up.” Feuilly said.

“That’s not the issue.”

“What is the issue then?”

“Yes, we can work together just fine. I don’t think it’s good for anyone in the long run if we continue to do so.” Enjolras said. “Look, you don’t have to put anything in Grantaire’s file, just put it in mine.”

Feuilly had considered Enjolras for a long time before agreeing to Enjolras’ request. This was why Enjolras had gone to Feuilly. Lamarque would never have agreed to it without more of an explanation. But Lamarque also didn’t have any field experience. Not the way Feuilly had. Lamarque didn’t know how much of their work relied on gut feelings. Didn’t know how small personal things could throw you off. Although clearly unhappy about it, Feuilly had done as asked.

Enjolras never talked with Grantaire about it; the fight in the safehouse or what he’d asked of Feuilly. If Feuilly told Grantaire, which seemed likely to Enjolras, Grantaire never mentioned anything of it to Enjolras either.

“My therapist says we need to get better at communication.” Grantaire had mentioned off-hand two weeks later, while they were washing dishes in Enjolras’ kitchen.

“That’s probably true.”

Grantaire had glanced up from the sink to throw Enjolras an amused smile, like Enjolras had just said something clever, before changing the subject. They never talked about that again either.

 

*

 

Enjolras didn’t show anyone else the file Tholomyès had given him. Instead he spent a few hours studying it thoroughly before following Combeferre home and telling him everything that had been in it.

Combeferre had a calm, logical approach to problems that Enjolras deeply admired. When in doubt Enjolras had always found talking something through with Combeferre to be the best way to clear his own thoughts on a subject.

Combeferre made Enjolras go through everything twice while he prepared dinner, before finally commenting: “I don’t like this.” Then he asked Enjolras to repeat it all one more time.

“Sending you doesn’t make any sense.” Combeferre said, when Enjolras had finished the third time. “Sending anyone to extract those files are a risky decision if the end goal is to keep them intact. It would be simpler and safer to add security and monitor the place closely. What was that about Madeleine’s daughter?”

“Euphrasie, called Cosette by everyone. All her papers are forgeries, although good ones, better than Madeleine’s own. Intelligence couldn’t find anything on who she really is or where Madeleine got her from. When questioned about it Madeleine threatened to destroy the files on the Thenardiers. He’d rather drop the deal and go to jail than give us anything on her past. Lamarque agreed to keep her out of it. That was probably why Madeleine got so mad when he found Marius talking with her. You think that’s important?”

“I’m just wondering why the deal has been in a deadlock for so long. But if Madeleine couldn’t be convinced to trust Marius again, somebody else should have been assigned. It’s six months since Madeleine first approached us.”

“Madeleine’s case was taken from Lamarque and given to Tholomyès after Marius failed. I’m beginning to think Tholomyès isn’t very interested in letting those files get here.” Enjolras said. “He never picked a replacement for Marius, and now there’s this plan.”

“If they knew Madeleine’s files potentially had information about a mole, Tholomyès shouldn’t have been able to deadlock it for months. Not unless there was some other plan in the works to deal with it.” Combeferre said, frowning.

“I can’t believe you were never read in on any of this.” Enjolras said.

“Overseeing missions was never part of my job description.” Combeferre said, a note of amusement entering his voice. Combeferre did a lot of things that weren’t part of his job description. Originally, he’d been hired as a part of the IT department but had quickly gotten himself involved in projects in several other departments. On the records, he still held his original position, but in practice he was constantly loaned out to help with logistical and technical problems above his official position. His clearance level had been adjusted and he’d gotten his own office out of the trouble, but his title and salary remained the same.

“Besides, any mission to deal with a mole would have to be highly need-to-know.” Combeferre added.

“So, if there’s another plan for dealing with the mole, Tholomyès might have a good reason for handling the Madeleine case this way?”

“Seems unlikely they would rely solely on Marius if they’d been informed of a potential mole.” Combeferre said with a shrug.  “But, that aside. Even if Tholomyès has a good reason for needing those files extracted now, I don’t buy that you’re the best choice for it. Not for the reasons Tholomyès gave.”

“He’s withholding something. He got mad when I questioned him on it.” Enjolras said.

“So why were you picked? What goal would make you the best choice?” Combeferre asked.

Enjolras could tell where Combeferre was trying to lead him and shook his head. “Tholomyès didn’t seem very certain Grantaire would even be there.”

“But if he is, you would be the best distraction.”

Enjolras shook his head again. “Would I? Tholomyès seems to be working from the assumption Grantaire is guilty. If we think he’s ruthless enough to sell out to a crime lord and kill Lamarque, would we think he’d care I was there?”

“Most people treat strangers differently than the people they are close to.” Combeferre pointed out mildly.

“Lamarque wasn’t a stranger.”

“True, but beside my point. It’s possible to believe Grantaire would show disregard for his fellow man by selling state secrets without also believing that keeps him from loving you.”

“Fine.” Enjolras said, folding his arms across his chest. “If I’m given this mission because I’m the best distraction in case Grantaire shows up, why didn’t Tholomyès tell me that’s what I’m there for?”

“Good question.” Combeferre said. “Would you act differently? – I mean, around Grantaire? Apart from trying to get the files yourself.”

Enjolras paused. Memories had been circling through his mind all week and one seemed relevant, but for a moment he felt unwilling to share it. It was irrational though, this urge to keep pieces of Grantaire to himself – it was certainly irrational to want to keep them from Combeferre, who only wanted to help. “Grantaire said I was as unsubtle as a bull in a chinashop when I lied.” Enjolras admitted. “He said I adopted an entirely different personality when I lied, that anyone who knew me well could tell.”

“He did?” Combeferre said, mostly to himself. His expression went distant, like he was puzzling over something.

“Do you agree?” Enjolras asked, drawing Combeferre’s attention back.

“It’s… not inaccurate.” Combeferre said diplomatically. “Although I think Grantaire exaggerated the extent of it. Or maybe he’s better at spotting your lies than I am. Would Tholomyès know that about you though?”

“He’s spent a good part of the last six days picking my brain for anything Grantaire-related. It might have come up, I don’t remember everything I’ve said.”

Combeferre frowned. “You don’t remember? I didn’t know it was that bad.”

Enjolras looked away. He uncrossed and recrossed his arms. “I’m fine. Besides he seems to be done with that game now.”

“You know you could have told us you were having a hard time.” Combeferre said with mild reproach.

“It was nothing I couldn’t handle. I just – You know I don’t do well with nothing to do. I don’t like sitting around while other people act.” Enjolras shrugged. “So Tholomyès might not have told me the truth because he thinks Grantaire would be able to read it on me. Or maybe he didn´t tell me because he knows I won´t like whatever the real plan is.”

Combeferre was silent for a moment, studying Enjolras, before he nodded in agreement.

“I don’t like it, this unofficial mission, what he isn’t telling me. I don’t trust him.” Enjolras said.

“No. Me neither.” Combeferre said. “We’ll need to allocate some ressources to look into this.”

“Send Courfeyrac to talk with Marius. Anyone who’s got the time can start working on it, but figuring out what happened with Lamarque is still first priority.”

 

*

 

A month before Lamarque died and Grantaire disappeared, Enjolras nearly blew his own cover on what should have been an easy mission. Technically it was below his pay-grade: simply following a target and documenting his movements. Enjolras had gratefully taken the mission anyway, because it had been a while since his last assignment and he was getting antsy around the office. Grantaire’s erratic moods had been a further incentive – although not as bad as they’d get the following weeks, it was a recipe for disaster when Enjolras was prickly from inaction.

What nearly brought Enjolras down, embarrasingly, was food poisining, and his own decision to try and work through it. A stupid decision, Enjolras could admit in hindsight. The surveillance could have waited the couple of days it would have taken him to recover. No what could have been disastrouos was if Mr. Nielsen had realized he was being followed because Enjolras was nauseus and clumsy – as both Lamarque and Combeferre painstakingly reminded Enjolras during and after his de-brief. Lamarque had looked at Enjolras with such dissappointment. Combeferre had been more resigned in his disappointment, having known Enjolras much longer.

Grantaire in contrast was all mockery.

“Mighty Apollo beaten by a shitty sausage. You didn’t tell me you’d been kicked out of Olympus.” Grantaire said and: “It’s because of idiocy like this I doubt you have any sense of self-preservation.” And: “You don’t get to give me shit for drinking on the job after this.”

Grantaire followed Enjolras home, every word out of his mouth so cold and biting he had to be picking for a fight. It would have worked any other day, but this had been one of the rare occasion where Enjolras was too exhausted to rise to the challenge. Enjolras responded with neutral hums or not at all, which did nothing to either worsen or lesson Grantaire’s steady stream of vitriol.

Verbal attacks aside, Grantaire carried Enjolras’ weekend bag in for him and stopped talking when Enjolras went to bed. And in the middle of the night, when Enjolras’ stomach suddenly disagreed with the plain bread he’d eaten for dinner, Grantaire followed him into the bathroom. Grantaire sat in the dark for twenty minutes holding Enjolras’ hand while Enjolras alternated between emptying his stomach and hugging the toilet – the contact a single point of warmth in the cool bathroom.

“You’re going to get yourself killed.” Grantaire had said eventually breaking the silence– not a question or an accusation but a simple statement of fact. “Someday. Anyday.”

“That risk is part of the job, Grantaire.” Enjolras had answered, softly, carefully, because he felt sick and fragile and didn’t want to start an argument. All their fights were about work in some way, but one common theme was how Enjolras thought Grantaire didn’t take their work seriously enough while Grantaire thougt Enjolras worked too much and too hard.

Grantaire took a deep breath, the sound loud in the dark, and said “Some day you’ll go out in a violent burst of glory and I don’t think I can handle being here when it happens.”

Enjolras felt very cold. No, he didn’t imagine Grantaire would handle his death very well either, but what did Grantaire want him to do about it? He couldn’t make himself more careful on the job, that wasn’t him. The mission would always come first. Was Grantaire saying he wanted to leave? How far away would Grantaire have to go to not hear about it if Enjolras died?

Also, Grantaire usually ruminated on stuff that upset him for ages before telling Enjolras about it. How long had Grantaire been thinking about this? Was this why his mood had been so bad lately?

“I know I’m reckless sometimes, but It’s not like I’m trying to get myself killed.” Enjolras said.

“You’re not trying to, but it’s an acceptable outcome, isn’t it?” Grantaire countered, tone defeated. “More acceptable than giving up on the cause.”

Enjolras couldn’t argue with that, not without bringing up Grantaire’s disturbingly lackadaiscal views on their work. Turning this into one of their fights wouldn’t help.

“I love you.” He said instead, meaning both _I’m sorry_ and _please don’t leave_.

 

*

 

All operations were suspended and all agents in the field recalled when the department went into lock-down. Undercover missions were the only exception, since they couldn’t suddenly be called off without putting everyone involved in danger, and so a handful of agents had been given leave to disengage in their own time.

Where Bahorel had been assigned Enjolras didn’t know, but eight days passed since the lock-down before he appeared in Paris again. Enjolras heard about his return and how he had barely stepped foot inside the building before getting pulled into one of Tholomyès’ interviews. Enjolras himself didn’t see Bahorel until much later that day, when Bahorel appeared on his doorstep and demanded Enjolras come with him.

Bahorel was uncharacteristically quiet while he lead Enjolras to the Musain. Once there he ordered them both a beer, before finally saying. “Grantaire left me a message in my mailbox.”

Enjolras stopped in the process of sipping from his beer and hurriedly sat it down so he could demand: “What? How?”

“He borrowed a book from me before I left. It was in my mailbox with a card saying thank you.”

“They must have found that when they searched your place.” Enjolras pointed out.

“Oh, they did, and confiscated it. Goodbye Douglas Adams. But Tholomyès waved the card around a bit, trying to intimidate me.” Bahorel paused dramatically and sent Enjolras a significant look.

“And?” Enjolras asked.

“He didn’t let me see the message itself, but luckily for us the front of the card was all I needed. A picture of a rooster.” Bahorel grinned.

“ _And?_ ” Enjolras repeated, impatient.

Bahorel finally seemed to pick up on Enjolras urgency. His grin dropped and he continued, more business-like “It’s an old code the agents working out of the temporary office in Istanbul used 10 years ago – a very small group of agents, I’m the only one still active. You get anything with a rooster on it and it means you’re being watched.”

“Watched.” Enjolras echoed, voice too flat to make it a proper question.

“If you check your apartment with the right equipment I suspect you’ll find several bugs. I did. That’s why we’re here.” Bahorel said, gesturing to the bar around them. “You haven’t been speaking out of turn, have you?”

“Not at home. Not at the office, we knew we could be watched there.” Enjolras said, then added, less certain. “Combeferre’s place would be safe.”

“Combeferre has jammers at his place. I swung by his office today and it happened to come up. We also discussed how searching an apartment gives the perfect opportunity to hide some bugs.” Bahorel paused and made a point of catching Enjolras eyes. “But hey,” He smiled reassuringly. “This is good news, in a way. This points to something shady going on in the department, and Grantaire being aware of it.”   

“Grantaire being aware and keeping it to himself.” Enjolras said. “Leaving it in your mailbox was a deliberate delay. He knew it would take you a while to get back.”

The thought of it hurt, that Grantaire had deliberately kept this from everybody and also – more irrationally – that the message had been left for Bahorel, that he still hadn’t told Enjolras anything. But that chain of thought was unconstructive, self-centered. Enjolras mentally shook himself and looked at the situation more objectively. What did Grantaire achieve by keeping them in the dark until now, Enjolras thought instead, the words sounding a bit like Combeferre in his head.

It meant Grantaire would be the only one taking the fall if anything went wrong. It meant no one could object if Grantaire’s plans were ill-conceived. It meant they’d spent the last couple of days playing catch-up, scrambling for information Grantaire already had rather than responding to the threat that had made Grantaire disappear himself. It meant there wasn’t anything incriminating to pick up on the bugs because they didn’t know anything - although the same could have been achieved if Grantaire had just _warned them in time._ It meant Enjolras lost several nights of sleep. It...

It meant scrambling for information and not knowing anything and losing sleep, and Grantaire had thought Enjolras was bad at lying.

“Oh.” Enjolras said.

Keeping Enjolras in the dark until Bahorel came back meant Enjolras didn’t have to fake anything those six days Tholomyès had spent interrogating him. It meant Enjolras had been genuinely hurt and confused while Tholomyès decided whether to trust him. It meant -

“He’s such an asshole.” Enjolras muttered and rubbed a hand across his face.

“Yeah?” Bahorel asked.

Enjolras shook his head. He needed a moment to let his realization settle before sharing it. “How does he know that code if you’re the only one still alive from the old Istanbul office? You’ve never had a mission with him.” Enjolras asked instead.

“I’m the only one still active in the field, not alive.” Bahorel said. “I assume he got it from Houchelope in IT. The first year on the job Grantaire spent most of his downtime in the IT department, and if Floreal was busy he’d trade stories with Houchelope.”

“Of course he did.” Enjolras sighed.

 

*

 

The code Grantaire used with Enjolras had also been 10 years old and had also been taught to Grantaire by a woman.

It had been the morning of their first mission together. Grantaire had just gotten out of the shower and was searching Enjolras’ living room for his phone when he suddenly stopped dead, staring at the CD player crammed into a corner of a bookcase.

“You have a CD player? Does it work?”

“Yes.” Enjolras had answered from the doorway, slightly defensive. People had teased him about it before, but he didn’t see a reason to get rid of it when it still worked. Grantaire had only seemed delighted by it though. He walked over and started fiddling with it, studying the buttons with surprising intensity.

“You know how kids have these obsessions? Like, for a couple of years they are really into dinosaurs and they want dinosaurs on their lunch boxes and sheets and so on?” Grantaire had asked. “Age 8 to 12 my sister had a thing for spies. Read all these books way above her grade level, watched really inappropriate Bond movies. Eventually, she made her own secret code and shared it with me. Only me because our brother couldn’t be trusted not to tell mom or dad. We’d leave each other secret messages with it. It was really simple, you just needed a CD player to decode them.”

Grantaire had turned around to look at Enjolras and Enjolras had been struck by the pain which was easily read on his face. Only for a moment and then Grantaire smiled weakly, covering it up. This was how Grantaire won people over, Enjolras realized later. Grantaire opened himself up and let people see what was inside. Just a flash of it was enough, because when he covered it again they had seen how vulnerable he really was, how thin his armor was.  

“Smart kid.” Enjolras had offered.

“Yeah.” Grantaire agreed, his expression revealing another flash of pain before looking away. He looked over his shoulder at the CD player, then back at Enjolras. “I could teach it to you, if you’re interested.”

“Would you start leaving me messages then?” Enjolras had asked. He was relieved when it made Grantaire smile. A real smile, not a cover for something else.

“I promise.”

 

*

 

Ten days after Lamarque died, Enjolras finally got what he’d been waiting for.

He was meeting Courfeyrac in Combeferre’s office for an update on what he’d gotten from Marius. They only had ten minutes, because Enjolras wanted it to look purely social and not like they were planning something.

“I know we have to be quick, but I have something else to tell you. Remember how I inherited a swordcane from my aunt? And then I took it out of the case and broke it?” Was the first thing Courfeyrac said after Enjolras closed the door, talking fast. “And Grantaire knew a guy who could fix it? Well, I got it back today and there was note tucked into the case which Grantaire must have left when he brought it in for me.”

Enjolras felt a small stab of jealousy that Grantaire had once again left a note for someone else, but quickly pushed it away. “What does it say?”

“I don’t know. I assume it’s for you, what with his Casablanca thing.” Coufeyrac said and produced a piece of paper from his pocket. Enjolras made an effort to take it calmly and not just rip it out of Courfeyrac’s hand.

On the paper was a sketch of Rick's Café Américain from the movie, recognizable by the curved arches and large brass lamps. The bar was empty except for Sam at his piano, smiling knowingly out at the viewer. Enjolras’ eyes were drawn to the string of numbers in the topmost corner, pretending to be a date.

“Yes, this is for me. But I need to go home to read it.” Enjolras confirmed.

Almost shaky with relieve, Enjolras rabidly lost all interest in anyhing to do with Marius and left Combeferre’s office long before the ten minutes were up.

The code Grantaire’s sister had made at age 8 was very simple: The first two numbers pointed to a CD on Enjolras’ shelf and a track on that CD. The next two numbers indicated minutes and seconds. The lyrics at the part of the song you ended up at was the message.

Grantaire’s note pointed to one of the CD’s that Grantaire had brought when he’d first taught Enjolras the code. The song wasn’t one Enjolras remembered Grantaire using before, he noted with some trepidation as he cued it up. Enjolras skipped ahead to 01:52 and then had to sit down while a sultry woman’s voice told him:

_If I, if I have been untrue. I hope you know it was never to you._

 

*

 

The first time Enjolras told Grantaire he loved him, Grantaire had gone oddly distant for the rest of the evening. He didn’t say much of anything until the next morning, where he had asked, out of the blue: “You know you can’t fix me right?”

“Fix you?” Enjolras had asked, blearily, because Grantaire had said it as Enjolras was getting out of bed and thus before his first coffee.

“Do you think you can make me better?” Grantaire asked. He was still in bed, sitting with his back against the headboard and his arms crossed, talking too quickly for the early hour. “Because I’m not – Or _you’re_ not. I might get better. I might also get worse. But you can’t expect to fix me. My mental health is not gonna magically get better just because you love me.”

“I don’t want you to get better.” Enjolras had said, before realizing how that sounded. “No, I mean, I don’t care if you get better – No. I care, I – No.” He stopped talking and took a moment to rub a hand over his face while he tried to figure out how to make the words in his head come out right.

At least his fumble made the corner of Grantaire’s mouth turn up slightly. Enjolras took it as a cue to crawl back into bed.

“Why are we talking emotions before coffee?” Enjolras asked plaintively, slumping sideways against the headboard so he could look directly at Grantaire.

“Because before coffee is the only time of the day my head works better than yours.” Grantaire said.

Enjolras wasn’t sure he agreed with that – he was in fact sure Grantaire’s head worked much better during anything sex-related, whereas it took embarrassingly little for Enjolras to lose higher brain functions - but Enjolras had just woken and he doubted he could keep track of the first subject if he started pursuing that as well.

His frustration must have shown, because Grantaire’s expression softened with affection and he reached over to brush some wayward hair out of Enjolras face. “You’re really not a morning person.”

“So, you planned to ask me before coffee?” Enjolras asked. “Have you been worrying about this since yesterday?”

Grantaire shrugged.

“I don’t… expect you to magically get better because of me.” Enjolras began haltingly. “I would like it if you were kinder on yourself because I want you to be happy, but it’s not a… a requirement. I love you, now. As you are now.”

Grantaire silently studied Enjolras for a long moment, then a slow smile spread over his face. “I love you too. Did I tell you that yesterday?”

He had not. He had not said much of anything the night before – a fact Enjolras had done his best not to read too much into. “Must have slipped your mind.”

“Okay, I’m an asshole. But you know that.” Grantaire sighed and then repeated “I love you too.”

 

*

 

Two days before Madeleine’s party Enjolras met with Feuilly in a park.

Once upon a time, Feuilly had been the one to recommended Grantaire for the job. Because of a promise to Grantaire, Feuilly had supervised every one of Grantaire’s missions since then. This gave Feuilly the questionable honor of being the one person in the agency whose loyalty was more in question because of his connection with Grantaire than Enjolras. Additionally, Feuilly seemed to have handled his interview much worse than Enjolras did. Tholomyès had officially declared Feuilly as “under investigation” and barred him from entering the office after the first day of interviews.

When they had been splitting the tasks of their investigation between them, Enjolras had made sure one of them was to regularly check in with Feuilly and keep him updated. Combeferre had questioned the necessity of it. None of them doubted Feuilly’s innocence, but being under investigation made it risky to contact him and meant Feuilly couldn’t do anything himself to help. Enjolras had argued it was the right thing to do on principle, and none of the others had been eager to argue against it.  

“I thought you would have come to see me a lot sooner than this.” Feuilly told Enjolras.

“It is easier for Bousset to meet you unnoticed than it is for me.” Enjolras said. Before allowing this meeting, Combeferre had done something complicated and illegal to the IT-system that meant Enjolras’ and Feuilly’s trackers couldn’t be placed together.

“I know, but I didn’t think that would stop you. I remember when Grantaire first came back to work, you were very thorough in your research. You had all kinds of questions for me.”

Enjolras remembered that too and felt more than a little embarrassed to hear Feuilly talk about it. “I’d like to think I know Grantaire better now than I did then. Grantaire’s not who I came to ask you about. I want to talk about Lamarque. And Tholomyés too, maybe.” Enjolras said, happy to change the subject.

Feuilly at first looked amused at Enjolras’ evasion, which shifted into curiousity as Enjolras’ words fully registered. “Lamarque and Tholomyes?”

“We’ve got a theory – Combeferre and Courfeyrac and I - and I’d like to hear what you think of it. You’ve worked closer with Lamarque and for longer than any of us. Tholomyés too.”

Feuilly nodded slowly. “I suppose I can do that.”

“There was sensitive information in the sample of documents Madeleine gave us that pointed to a possible mole in the department. Someone supplying the Thenardiers with information. Did you know that?” Enjolras began.

“I did not.” Feuilly said, frowning. “But that’s not surprising. You’d need to keep something like that quiet to keep the mole from running before we got them. I take it Lamarque knew about it?”

“We assume so, since he was put in charge of the Madeleine case.”

“Until Marius screwed up and it was given to Tholomyés.” Feuilly said.

“Yes, but Marius can’t have been the only plan to find the mole. Otherwise Lamarque and Tholomyès wouldn’t have let the negotiations with Madeleine stay deadlocked for this long. Sending Marius might just have been for show to begin with. We think Lamarque’s real plan was to give the Thenardiers a new mole and make them trust that person enough that the Thenardier’s would reveal their original source.”

“And you think that person was Grantaire?” Feuilly guessed.  “It would explain the videos of him making exchanges with Montparnasse. And the money.”

Enjolras nodded and continued before Feuilly could add anything else, eager to get to the point: “With a leak like that Lamarque would have to assume the Thenardier’s could get copies of our files, including info on any agent he sent to them. Which meant Lamarque couldn’t send anyone he’d want to send. Which means he’d have to send someone whose files describe them as incapable of doing a mission like that.” Enjolras had to pause and take a breath, gathering himself to quiet the anger that was starting to slip into his voice.

He had woken up angry that morning and had remained so all day. It was almost a relief after the muddle of emotions he’d been treading water in before. Anger was a familiar and clear-cut emotion. Anger had a purpose and a direction. He’d carefully kept it alive, like an ember in his chest, hot enough to keep it burning but not enough to let it slip out yet. Outward he still had to appear as unknowing and confused as he’d been before. Despite this effort, anger kept slipping into his voice as he continued explaining, building with each sentence:

“That’s what I wanted to ask you about. There’s two psychological evaluations in Grantaire’s file, both stating he shouldn’t do long-term undercover work, that he does not have the resilience for it. I want to know whether you think Lamarque would ask Grantaire to take that mission, knowing what he was still recovering from, knowing what it would do to him.”

Enjolras had never seen Grantaire’s psychological evaluations. Combeferre had kept them out of the personel files he’d given Enjolras and Enjolras had never asked for them. He’d only ever seen the conclusions, copied down in later reports. As such he didn’t know exactly why the psychologists thougt Grantaire couldn’t do long-term undercover work. What Enjolras knew was this: Grantaire was good at lying because he hid them among truths, covered for them by offering real pieces of himself. When Grantaire befriended criminals and murderers he did so by playing a worse version of himself. If Grantaire had spent months acting as a mole, it meant he’d spent months deliberately feeding the parts of himself he was most ashamed of. It meant that he had spent months cracking himself open and exposing his insecurities to some of the most dangerous people on the continent.  

“I think you already know the answer to that.” Feuilly said, and it seemed his words came from far away. Enjolras mentally shook himself to refocus on Feuilly.

Feuilly continued: “If everything you say is true Tholomyés has to be involved in the frame-up. He’s been working hard to pin the breach on Grantaire, but he must have known that Grantaire was undercover to find the mole or he wouldn’t have let the Madeleine case collect dust for this long. He’s-” Feuilly stopped abruptly, wearing a tight expression Enjolras hadn’t often seen on him before. Feuilly was angry too.

Oddly, Enjolras found his own anger easier to contain in the face of Feuilly’s. “He’s the original mole, the real one.” Enjolras finished for him, able to get the words out more calmly now.

“You know, their explanation for the timeline that night never made sense. This idea that Grantaire should have taken out his tracker an hour before he killed Lamarque. The first person the system alerts when a tracker goes offline is that agent’s handler. If the system tried pinging Grantaire between he took it out and killing Lamarque, Lamarque would have known Grantaire was up to something.” Feuilly said. “I told Tholomyés that.”

“No wonder he banned you from the office.” Enjolras said.

Feuilly huffed and rubbed a hand across his face.

“Especially if you realize that a better explanation for that timeline is that Lamarque was killed because Grantaire removed his tracker.” Enjolras continued “Tholomyés assumed Grantaire was running because he’d figured him out, so Tholomyés killed Lamarque and blamed Grantaire to cover his tracks.”

They sat for a moment in silence. Feuilly tense with the same angry expression, Enjolras watching him, trying to gauge his thoughts.

“What do you think?” Enjolras prompted Feuilly, eventually.

“I’d say your theory fits what I know of Lamarque and Tholomyés.” Feuilly said. “Now you have to find the evidence to prove it.”

“We will.” Enjolras promised.

 

*

 

Grantaire’s favorite movie was Casablanca with Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman. For some reason, Grantaire had been embarresed by this fact the time it had come up, which was very unlike him. Usually Grantaire was stubbornly unapolegetic in his likes and dislikes.  

“It’s kinda messed up, though, isn’t it?” Grantaire had questioned, gesturing wildly with his beer and splashing a great deal on Bossuet in the process. “You say – you ask me. And I say: This is the best – this is the most romantic - this is the _pinnacle_ , right? But it ends with them not getting each other. The most romantic thing I can think of and they don’t get each other. That’s kinda messed up, isn’t it?”

Jehan had answered with something about Romeo and Juliet, but Enjolras didn’t remember much of the conversation beyond that. It had only been a day or so after Enjolras had asked Grantaire whether the word ‘boyfriend’ might be a fitting description of their relationship, to which Grantaire had responded with surprised but enthusiastic agreement. Enjolras had never had a real, adult boyfriend before. The thing Enjolras remembered best from that night in the bar was taking the beer from Grantaire to prevent further splashing and replacing it with his own hand, and how Grantaire had tangled their fingers and started stroking the back of Enjolras’ hand with his thumb without pausing in his answer to Jehan. Meanwhile Enjolras had been thinking _my boyfriend_ over and over, marveling at the possessive pleasure he got from the words each time.

The only reason Enjolras remembered as much of the conversation as he did, was because Grantaire himself had brought it up again two weeks before Lamarque died, the day he’d followed Enjolras down into the shooting range.

“I had a realization about Casablanca recently.” Grantaire had said that night, sprawled over Enjolras’ couch, staring at the ceiling. He’d thrown himself there the moment Enjolras let him into the apartment and had seemed disinclined to move since. “I asked my therapist if it was weird my favorite romance ends unhappily. She said the most famous love stories usually ends tragically, like Romeo and Juliet, or Titanic. Then it occurred to me that in all those classis romances our lovers don’t get each other because one or both dies. That isn’t the case in Casablanca though. In Casablanca they don’t get each other because they decide to do the right thing instead. I think I get points for that with you.”

“With me?” Enjolras had questioned, not following Grantaire’s train of thought. He had wondered where Grantaire’s head was, whether this related to whatever bad thing Grantaire had done he wouldn’t tell Enjolras about.

“Yeah. In Casablanca they don’t get each other because Bogart decides it’s more important to fight the Nazis. He picked doing what was right for his country over his love life. I think I should get points with you for that, for idealizing that kind of choice, one where you do the right thing even if it breaks you.”

“Okay.” Enjolras conceeded. “Yeah, I think that’s a better story than them just dying.”

“Yay.” Grantaire had said with no shred of enthusiasm, still staring at the ceiling. “I win.”

 

*

 

Getting into Madeleine’s party wasn’t actually very hard. It was an annual event for all the employees working in Madeleine’s jewelry factory, and although it was a small factory, the invitations both included partners and children, making it easy enough to sneak a name onto the list. Getting from the party to where Madeleine was keeping the Thenardier files was another matter though, and the part where Enjolras’ old cover ostensibly was necessary.

According to their intelligence Madeleine was - in addition to being a well-regarded community figure, factory owner, doting father and former criminal – also a collector of religious artifacts. It was a small collection but did contain a few high-valued items. Madeleine had paid for a state of the art security system to protect these items from theft, which had required severe renovations of the second floor of the old mansion he lived in. It seemed very likely that Madeleine would also be keeping the Thenardier files in the rooms covered by this enhanced security. Additionally, Madeleine had recently hired guards to keep his guests from wandering up to the second floor – something they could find no record of him having done any of the previous years.

The plan was for Enjolras to use his cover to get upstairs, locate the Thenardier files and bring them safely back to the agency. With Madeleine distracted by a house full of guests, Enjolras should have severeal hours to find the files and get out before Madeleine would notice anything was amiss. The main challenge would be getting there before whoever the Thenardiers had sent, who might or might not be Grantaire.

Or that was the plan as Tholomyés had laid it out. Enjolras’ plan was similar. The difference was that Enjolras wasn’t gonna let Tholomyés anywhere near the files once he’d gotten his hands on them.

Enjolras arrived when the party was in full swing. This admittedly wasn’t much swing considering it was a company party with kids, but the chatter and music was loud enough that Enjolras could hear it from outside the house. He’d been directed to enter through the back door, and as he walked around the house, the glimpses he caught through the windows further gave the impression the house was filled to the brim with people.

The guard at the back door had been told to expect him. He accepted Enjolras’ fake ID with barely a glance, before reporting Enjolras’ arrival over his radio and opening the door for Enjolras. With the door open the noise increased tenfold and it became clear that a large part of it was caused by children playing something that involved a lot of yelling and laughing.

Rather than going inside Enjolras took a step back. “Can I wait here? Is that okay?” Enjolras asked the guard, nervously. He was playing Émile Bayard and Bayard was a nervous man. He didn’t like parties or big crowds or interacting with new people in general.

The guard shrugged and let the door fall closed again. Enjolras spent a couple of minutes cultivating an awkward silence with the guard, until the door opened from the inside and Madeleine stepped out.

“Hello. You must be Mabeuf’s graduate student then?” Madeleine asked. His tone was perfectly welcoming, but there was something guarded in the way he looked Enjolras up and down.

Enjolras had been expecting some suspicion from Madeleine, who by all accounts was a little paranoid on a good day, never mind when he was hidding documents of high value to both government agents and crime lords. Enjolras made a show of ducking his head nervously under Madeleine’s gaze “Émile Bayard. We spoke on the phone?” He said, making it a question in the face of Madeleine’s intense scrutiny.  

Madeleine’s expression softened a fraction. “Of course, yes.” Madeleine offered his hand and Enjolras shook it with a light grip. “And you’re interested in seeing my collection?”

“Yes, your books in particular. Professor Mabeuf thought one of your books of prayer might contain some notes of interest.” It was subtle, but Enjolras saw Madeleine’s eyes brighten with interest at that.

“Well, let us go take a look at it.” Madeleine said and opened the door for Enjolras to pass through.

The back door led into a landry room, from where Enjolras knew the door on his left would lead into a hallway that lead further into the living and dinning room where the majority of guests would be. Even as Bayard, who wouldn’t know this, Enjolras felt no qualms turning towards that door, since the noise made it clear this was the direction of the party. On a second thought, Enjolras made a show of wincing at the noise level and looking reluctant when Madeleine lead them into the hallway.

Madeleine paused beside the door to the dinning room. He had to lean in close for Enjolras to hear him, when he said: “Don’t worry about the noise. Upstairs has been insulated, so barely any sound passes between the floors. You’ll see, you won’t be disturbed.”

“Can I ask why you wanted me to come today? You obviously have other matters to attend to.” Enjolras asked, nodding towards the dinning room.

“Well, we’re out of town the next couple of weeks, and I didn’t want you to wait that long.” Madeleine explained.

He was a good liar Enjolras noted. This plan had relied on the fact that with few exceptions, Madeleine only allowed visitors into his home on the day of this party. It might have been paranoia or simply to give himself a good excuse to avoid his own party. Madeleine didn’t much like being the center of attention; his daughter had officially taken over the job of hosting when she was only 15, and had unofficially covered for him for years before that.

Supporting the second theory, Madeleine visibly braced himself before leading them both through his throng of guests. He walked quickly, with a ducked head, clearly trying to avoid anyone engaging him in conversation. Despite this anti-social behavior, Enjolras noted that everyone they passed seemed to only have kind looks for Madeleine as he hurried past.

They made it to the stairwell unattested. Once there though, Madeleine was stopped by a call from behind them.

“Papa, wait!” Cosette called, seperating from a group at the windows and hurrying to join them at the foot of the stairs. She nodded at the guard stationed at the stairs before tugging Madeleine away, back towards the room. “Let me take him up. You’ve got too much to see to down here.” She said.

Madeleine looked at his daughter in surprise. She smiled back at him, something passing between them in her expression that Enjolras couldn’t read.

After a moment Madeleine glanced over at Enjolras, still looking confused. Rather than getting caught studying their interaction too intensely, Enjolras averted his gaze to Cosette’s dress. It was a soft yellow color that made her skin glow in a way Enjolras decided Bayard would find attractive. It must have been convincing, because Madeleine’s eyes narrowed. Enjolras ducked his gaze away, playing embarrassed while doing some quick mental calculations.

Enjolras didn’t want to go up with Cosette. He hadn’t studied her profile as thoroughly as Madeleine’s and so would have to work nearly blind when finding a way to get rid of her. The tranquilizers he had on him, his last resort, was mixed with Madeleine in mind and so would be dangerous to use on someone as petite as Cosette. Furthermore, if Cosette didn’t come down again on her own she would be missed much quicker than Madeleine, shortening Enjolras’ timeline considerately.

Maybe Enjolras could use Madeleine’s protectiveness to his advantage. Madeleine clearly didn’t like him even looking at Cosette. Maybe, if he made himself objectional enough in the next few seconds, Madeleine wouldn’t let them be alone together. He risked having to get rid of both of them then though, if Madeleine decided to join them upstairs rather than not letting Cosette go.

Before Enjolras could decide on a strategy, Cosette took the choice out of his hands. “Please, Papa.” She said, quietly, nearly a whisper. Madeleine folded immediately.

_“Use the tranqulizer on her.”_ Tholomyés voice came through the earpiece in Enjolras’ ear. _“The top priority is getting those files. We can make a distraction to ease your exit if necesary.”_ Enjolras kept the swell of anger he felt at Tholomyés’ voice off of his face. He had good practice at it, having gone through the mission parameters with Tholomyés earlier that day, somehow getting through several hours without punching the man in the face.  

Cosette said something to the guard at the bottom of the stairs, before waving for Enjolras to follow her up. Enjolras decided to project confusion as he nodded goodbye to a very unhappy-looking Madeleine, hoping to ease some of the suspicion Cosette had clearly aroused in her father. Enjolras didn’t have time to judge whether it had any effect, because Cosette ascended the stairs with such speed Enjolras had to hurry not to be left behind completely.

“Excuse me?” Enjolras called after Cosette’s back as they reached the top of the stairs. He exaggerated his breathing a little, to sound more like a winded academic.

Cosette opened a door on the right which Enjolras knew from the blueprints would lead to Madeleine’s office.  “In here.” She said, nodding for Enjolras to walk in.

Enjolras hesitated a moment. The tense way she held herself spelled nothing good, but he could think of no good reason for Bayard to refuse a direct request from her. He walked in, trying to hide his apprehension as regular awkwardness with a nervous smile in her direction. No matter what Tholomyés had said, Enjolras wasn’t going to use the tranquilizers on her. Until he found another way of getting rid of her, playing along was the only option.

Nothing bad happened immediately. It was a regular office as expected, big desk, bookcases against the walls, a window with a nice view of the garden. Then Cosette closed the door and asked with clear hostility: “What are you doing here?”

Having expected something like this, Enjolras was ready with confusion. “…What?” He said, blinking at her with faked surprise.

“I know who you are. Marius showed me- ”

At the mention of Marius, Enjolras’ hastily grabbed the radio jammer Combeferre had given him and turned it on. His earpiece played two low notes, indicating it had lost connection. It was a risk.  Tholomyés was likely to draw the conclusion that the sudden malfunction meant Enjolras was about to betray him. On the other hand, Cosette might save Enjolras some time if he played this right.

Cosette had stopped talking in surprise at his sudden movement and was staring at him suspiciously. Enjolras threw the jammer to her with one hand and pulled out the microphone hidden beneath the button on his shirt and held it out for her to see.

“That was stupid. I’m wired, and Marius could get into a lot of trouble for telling you who I am. I blocked the signal, but you need to come up with an explanation for what you just said that won’t incriminate him, in case anyone comes asking.” Enjolras said. “If they do ask, your father has always had a jammer in his office.”

Cosette had reddened considerably at Enjolras’ words and was staring between Enjolras and the jammer in her hand with embarassment. That was lucky, Enjolras plan hinged on her caring as much about Marius as Marius cared about her. Enjolras pressed his advantage.

“I’ll finish what I came for and then I’ll leave you to your party. This will stay between us.” Enjolras said, moving around Cosette to get to the door. Cosette stopped him with a quick step back, pressing her back against the door and blocking his way.

“No.” Cosette said, voice surprisingly firm even though her expression still hadn’t recovered from her earlier embarrasment. “Tell my why you are here.”

“I don’t think you’re in a position to make demands of me. Not if you want me to cover for what you just said.” Enjolras bluffed.

Cosette’s expression hardened and she shook her head dismissively. “Marius doesn’t want his job back.”

“Losing his job would be the least of his problems. Telling you anything about the agency is treason. He could end up in prison.”

His threat didn’t have the expected effect. Instead of giving in, Cosette’s resolve only seemed to harden.

“So could my dad if I let you steal the files!” She hissed. “That’s what you are here for, right? I’m not gonna let you do anything that could screw him over.”

A little taking aback, Enjolras tried baiting her. “If you’re this concerned about keeping your dad out of jail, maybe you shouldn’t have fooled around with the man who was supposed to get him a pardon.”

It seemed to work, very briefly. Cosette’s eyes widened and her jaw started tightening - but only for a moment, then she huffed, rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “I highly doubt you’d actually say anything to incriminate Marius, given how quickly you pulled this out the moment I mentioned him.” She said, lifting up the jammer. “Besides, why were you carrying this to begin with? I highly doubt the official plan involves you blocking your own equipment.”

Enjolras kept himself from reacting visbly to that. But a lack of response, of course, was also telling.

“Marius said your department was on lock-down because you’d had a mole.” Cosette said slowly, testing.

Enjolras sighed. Clearly intimidation wasn’t going to get him anywhere with her. “He is telling you a lot of things he shouldn’t.”

“He also told me someone was killed.”

Enjolras felt his expression change at that despite his efforts. Cosette face softened in response and she nodded to herself, as if something had been confirmed.

“Tell me what you are here for.” Cosette asked again, voice kinder than before.

The change made Enjolras think of Grantaire, and for a moment there was a hot ball of anger and worry welling up in his throat. Then he swallowed it down and focused instead on the cause of the reminder, on the thought of how Grantaire gained trust by exposing himself. That trick had never seemed like a possible tactic for Enjolras before, but this once honesty might turn out to be the best approach.

“Did Marius tell you who did it?” Enjolras asked.

Cosette shook her head.

“It’s not who they say it is. It’s someone who has placed himself to have a lot of influence at the moment. He used that power to frame someone I love for it instead. But it’s not him. It’s not.” Enjolras said. “I was sent here to get those files your father has collected, because they might contain information on who is the real mole. I think the man behind this is going to make sure those files are destroyed if I hand them over, so I’m not going to. That’s why I brought that jammer.”

“If you are worried he’ll destroy the evidence, why did you come? Wouldn’t it be safer to let my father keep the files locked up here until you’ve gotten rid of the mole?” Cosette pointed out. “I want to help you, I do. But understand, if I let you take the files I’m giving away my father’s pardon.”

“Those files are the fastest way to get the evidence we need. Besides, if it wasn’t me they would send someone else.” Enjolras said. “Do you believe I’m telling you the truth?”

“I do believe you. But I know you don’t have the power to promise we’ll get the pardon when you’re done cleaning house.” She said bluntly. She was talking about the pardons with a lot of confidence, Enjolras noted. It made him wonder if she had had a hand in forming Madeleine’s plan to trade the files to begin with.

“Then I hope you’ll also believe I’m telling you the truth, when I say that they won’t let you keep the files here for long. I’m just their first attempt. If I fail they’ll send someone else, someone less subtle. These are dangerous people, with little concern for collateral damage.” Enjolras warned. “What do you know of the Thenardiers?”

Cosette’s reaction to the name was much stronger than anything Enjolras had expected. She flinched and her face paled several shades. When she spoke, the words seemed to take great effort, like it was a struggle to let them out.

“I am familiar with how they work.”  Her voice was smaller than before, sounding younger somehow.

“I’m sorry.” Enjolras said automatically, thrown for a moment by the obvious fear the name had caused in her. “You’re…?”.

Intelligence hadn’t been able to track where Madeleine had gotten her from, Enjolras remembered, but there were many branches of the Thenardiers’ operation where they might have use for a little girl with no papers. There were several years between the two, but maybe wherever Madeleine got those files on the Thenardiers’ was connected to how he had acquired a child.

“It’s not important.” Cosette said, gathering herself. “But I see your point.”

“You don’t want them coming here.” Enjolras said.

“I don’t.” She agreed, a slight shiver in her voice. “And I suppose they’ll be less likely to if you’re out there with a copy of the files.”

Enjoras nodded “I will be more dangerous to them than you are.”

Cosette studied Enjolras for a moment, before sighing. “I’m not going to give you all of it. We still need something to trade for a pardon. But I will give you a copy of the parts you need.” She turned and opened the office door.

“Are you certain you know what parts I’ll need?” Enjolras questioned.

Cosette paused on her way out the door “You’ll have to take your chances, since that is what I am willing to give you. Wait here.” She left, closing the door behind her without giving Enjolras a chance to reply.

Enjolras supposed the closed door was to keep him from seeing where the files were kept. Although it could also serve to keep him from noticing if Cosette instead decided to call someone else, to betray him. Based on what he’d read of her character so far, he highly doubted the second option. Still, he twisted the door handle and opened the door a crack. Not enough to see anything but enough to hear what happened in the hall. He’d get a small warning if anybody else came up the stairs.

Cosette had still been holding the radio jammer when she left. Depending on how far away the files were, Enjolras’ earpiece might regain connection while she was gone. Enjolras tapped his earpiece to check, but it only repeated the two notes indicating a lost connection.

Keeping most of his attention on the earpierce and any sound from the hallway, Enjolras started searching the office. He didn’t expect Cosette would have left him here unsupervised if there was anything incriminating to find, but he needed to pass the time somehow. He was checking for anything hidden beneath a pair of heavy silver candlesticks, when a cut-off yell made it through the crack of the door. It sounded like Cosette.

Enjolras grabbed one of the candlesticks and went to the door to listen. With some effort he could hear a murmur of someone talking in another room, voice too deep to be Cosette. Enjolras slowly stepped out into the hallway and followed the voice to a room which had been marked as Cosette’s on the blueprint. The door was open and inside Enjolras could see the back of a man lowering a limp Cosette to the ground while murmuring soothingly to her. Enjolras recognized both the back and the voice.

As Cabuc leant over Cosette to take something out of her hand, Enjolras stepped forward and slammed the candlestick into the back of Cabuc’s head. Cabuc crumbled forward with a cry of pain and the thing he had been taking from Cosette flew out of his hand. It landed on the floor a few feet away, where Enjolras recognized it as a memory stick. Enjolras kicked Cabuc in the stomach to keep him down and hurried to pick up the memory stick.

The click of a gun’s safety made Enjolras freeze. He was an idiot. He hadn’t checked the other rooms before rushing in. From the doorway someone cleared their throat.

“Oh look, I found him.” Babet said lightly. “You okay?”

Cabuc cursed at him from the floor.

“Good. You can turn around but keep your hands where I can see them. And drop that thing.” Babet told Enjolras.

Enjolras dropped the candlestick and slowly turned around, holding his hands out to each side. Babet was standing in the doorway, pointing a gun at Enjolras’ with an amicable expression.

“You wanna do the honor?” Babet asked Cabuc. Cabuc nodded and started patting down his own pockets, while sending Enjolras a vicious look.

“Charade over then?” Enjolras asked, voice a little breathless with worry. The look on Cabuc’s face promised him nothing good, neither did the syringe Cabuc finally located and pulled out. “Why did Tholomyés spend all that time clearing me if he was gonna send you two here anyway? What a waste of time.”

“Change of plans.” Babet said with a shrug.

“Don’t worry, they’ve found some other way you can be useful.” Cabuc added with a mean grin as he approached Enjolras with the syringe. “You see, your boyfriend has been making trouble. Now, if you stand very still, this doesn’t have to hurt.”

Despite his words, Cabuc slammed the needle into Enjolras’ arm with much more force than necessary. Enjolras had been prepared for that and didn’t let the pain show on his face. The real surprise was that Cabuc limited his payback to that and didn’t take the opportunity to also hit him in the face. Whatever they had planned for him must be very bad, for Cabuc to look satisfied with so little.

Some of his fear must have shown on his face, because Cabuc’s grin widened and he said. “I’m gonna enjoy this.”

Enjolras considered grabbing the gun visible in Cabuc’s belt. Babet would shoot him before he got far, but that might be preferable to whatever plans they had. It was the only alternative he could see right now, and he didn’t have much time to waste. If they had given him the same drug as Cosette it would kick in fast. He would probably die if he grabbed the gun, but that way he could at least shoot Cabuc before he went.

Before Enjolras could decide, there was a muffled pop from the doorway, quickly followed by Babet falling to the ground with a thud. Cabuc reached for his gun and started turning, but Enjolras – having already been planning the move in his mind - got there first. Whatever the drug was, it seemed to start working just then, making his hands clumsy and causing him to fumble with the safety. Cabuc grabbed after the gun – but too late – Enjolras had finally flicked the safety off and quickly squeezed the trigger twice, pointed directly at Cabuc’s chest. Cabuc gasped – a weak rattling sound - and started sinking to the ground. Enjolras was rapidly losing feeling in his feet and hands, but managed to stay upright and point the gun at the doorway as Cabuc fell down and cleared his view.

“Hey.” Grantaire said.

With adrenaline and the unknown drug warring in his system, it took a moment for Enjolras to comprehend what he was seeing. Grantaire was standing in the doorway over Babet’s body. He was wearing the same uniform as the waiters downstairs and was holding a gun, pointed at the ground. He looked out of breath, like he’d been running.

As soon as it fully registered, Enjolras flicked on the safety and lowered his arm. Not just because he didn’t want to shoot Grantaire, but mostly because he wasn’t sure whether this was a hallucination. His vision was tunneling and blurring, and depending on what drug they’d given him, hallucinations could be a side-effect. If he was hallucinating, it was definetly time to drop the gun.

Enjolras also seemed to be losing time, because the next moment Grantaire was in front of him. He realized he had been falling when Grantaire caught and steadied him.

“Oh.” Enjolras managed, more of an exhale than a word. Grantaire had caught him, he could feel the vice grip Grantaire had on his shoulders and – when he dropped more – the warmth of Grantaire’s shoulder against his cheek. Grantaire was really here.

Grantaire was saying something – maybe his name? – but Enjolras couldn’t…

 

*

 

Enjolras had first met Grantaire 15 months before Lamarque died.

Grantaire had been slumped over Joly's desk, idly sorting Joly's pens after color. Grantaire had had dark rings under his eyes, days worth of stubble and his hair had been washed but unkempt. Beyond that, something in the way he moved and held himself made him seem tired in a bone-deep way.

Enjolras had been standing frozen in the doorway. He hadn’t been expecting to find anyone else in there and was still debating between announcing himself or coming back later, when Grantaire noticed him.

“Looking for Joly? He said he'd be back soon.” Grantaire had said.

Enjolras had hesitated a moment before nodding and stepping fully into the room.

“I'm Enjolras. Apollo.” Enjolras said, adding his codename because he'd only gotten it two months ago and he had still been a little too proud of it. Grantaire hadn't worn a visitor's badge, which in this building meant he had to be cleared for that level of information.

“I can see that. You'd make a great Kouros.” Grantaire said, looking Enjolras over. “I'm Grantaire. We didn't do Olympians last time I had a codename, but I suppose I could be Dionysus.”

“Grantaire? I've heard about you. They call you R, right?” Enjolras said. Several of the others had mentioned Grantaire before, an agent on sick leave and a good friend they were worried about. Enjolras had never met him because he'd only been working there eight months. Grantaire had been absent for 11 months.

“You're visiting Joly?” Enjolras asked.

“Yeah, it's take-your-mentally-ill-friend-to-work day.”  Grantaire joked, with a grin on his face that only looked skin deep. “Didn't you bring anyone? How embarrassing for you.” 

“Grantaire has a meeting with Lamarque.” Joly explained, coming in the door behind Enjolras. “Which hopefully means we'll be seeing more of him soon. What happened to your hand Enjolras?”

Enjolras pulled up the hand he had been hiding against his side, grimacing when the movement pulled at the broken skin across his knuckles. “I came for a plaster.”

“That needs ice too. What did you punch?” Joly asked disapprovingly while taking hold of Enjolras’ hand for closer examination.

“Cabuc. In the face.” Enjolras admitted, unapologetic.

Grantaire burst out laughing, the sound unrestrained and raw, like he was out of practice. Enjolras and Joly both looked at him in surprise while the sound trailed off into a raspy chuckle. Enjolras noticed then how very blue Grantaire's eyes was. Laughter made them sparkle in a way that completely overshadowed how tired he clearly was. Suddenly, Enjolras wanted nothing more than to make him laugh again, had wanted to be one to make Grantaire look like that.

“You punched Cabuc in the face? Oh, I like you kid. I'm gonna buy you a drink for that sometime.” Grantaire said.

“I'd like that.” Enjolras said, a warm feeling spreading in his chest.

 

*

 

Enjolras woke up to a dry mouth and a pounding head. Keeping his eyes closed at first, he took stock. The air around him smelled musty and he could feel a draft, suggesting an old building. The surface he was lying on was soft and squeaked whenever his weight shifted. There was someone else in the room with him. After a moment he recognized the sound of their breathing.

“Grantaire?” Enjolras said, the name coming out of his dry mouth in a croak. He opened his eyes and took in the room.

They were in a big dusty attic, just the two of them. Enjolras was lying on a sunbed, the only furniture in the room, while Grantaire was sitting on the floor several feet away, leaning against some moldy cardboard boxes and reading something on a tablet. Grantaire quickly put the tablet away when he saw Enjolras was awake and grabbed a bag that had been lying at his feet.

“Oh! How do you feel? I don’t know what they gave you. Nauseau? Headache?” Grantaire asked, while rummaging through the bag by feel alone because he kept his eyes trained on Enjolras, anxious. “How’s your vision? Blurry? Dark-”

“ _Grantaire_.” Enjolras interupted and sat up on the bed. His muscled felt a little stiff but apart from that and the headache he seemed okay.

The tone of Enjolras’ voice made Grantaire freeze. Enjolras was about to say something – he didn’t know what, there was _so much_  – but then Enjolras noticed Grantaire had pulled a water bottle out of the bag, and Enjolras reached for that instead. His mouth really felt awful. Grantaire scrambled to hand over the bottle as quickly as possible, and then sat down on the floor near Enjolras’ feet to watch him drink most of it in one go.

“I don’t know what they gave you.” Grantaire said just as Enjolras finished, apparently anxious to fill the silence. “I took the vial but I don’t have anything to analyze it with here. So if you feel weird you have to say, we don’t know what side effects there might be. If your arm hurts it’s because I took out your tracker, I - “

“Grantaire-“ Enjolras said again, but this time Grantaire barrelled over his interruption.

“I didn’t know they would kill Lamarque.” Grantaire said, words coming out of him in a rush. “I thought he might have been in on it. I was paranoid because they’d already tricked me once, making me run their errands for so long. I should have figured Lamarque wasn’t, he would have known I might disobey orders and actually look at the stuff I was transporting. But you know sometimes I don’t think things through and I needed to get out before they could finish planting evidence on me, before they realized I knew. It was stupid, I should have figured they would remove Lamarque if he was clean. But that’s why I didn’t tell you. I needed you there to handle him if he was part of it, and you needed to be convincing to trick him because you can’t -“

“Grantaire!” Enjolras repeated, loud enough to cut through Grantaire’s stream of words.

Grantaire stopped, a little out of breath, eyes wide with anxiety. He looked terrible. He was paler and thinner than Enjolras remembered him, and the circles under his eyes suggested he hadn’t been sleeping well for a while. Something about the way he held himself and how he moved also made Enjolras suspect he was hurting somewhere.

In this moment Enjolras didn’t care what Grantaire had done and why.  He knew he would later, it would be important later. He needed to know whether Cosette was okay and what had happened to the copy of the files she had made for him. But right now he was just so happy to be here with Grantaire. To have Grantaire safe within his sight and reach again. “I missed you.” Enjolras said and pulled Grantaire into a kiss.

Grantaire made a small surprised noise against Enjolras’ mouth and then surged up to return the kiss. Enjolras had spent a lot of time thinking about Grantaire since he had disappeared, trying to remember every detail as accurately as possible. But kissing him again, touching him, made it clear that there was a lot of details he had forgotten. The taste of Grantaire’s mouth, the scrape of his stubble, the scent of his skin, the way his hand curled around the nape of Enjolras’ neck – it was all a revelation in it’s forgotten familiarity.

As the kiss ended Enjolras kept Grantire close, framed Grantaire’s face with his hands and drank in the sight of him. There was a scar on Grantaire’s jaw Enjolras had completely forgotten existed until now. “I missed you.” Enjolras repeated, and the words were barely adequate, barely covered the depths of what he had been feeling since Grantaire disappeared. “Don’t _ever_ do something like that again.” That was a little better.

Grantaire made a sound that was half-laugh half-sob and kissed the palm of Enjolras hand. “I don’t ever want to do something like this again, I don’t think I’d survive it.” Grantaire admitted “I highly doubt you’d fall for it a second time anyway.”

Enjolras hadn’t thought of that but hearing it he realized it was true. No, he wouldn’t fall for Grantaire hiding secrets and pushing him away a second time, he knew the signs now. Enjolras smiled and rubbed a thumb over the darks circles beneath Grantaire’s eyes.  “That’s what I’m saying. Don’t try it again. I will notice, and I will _shoot_ you.”

“That’s fair.” Grantaire was starting to lean more heavily agains Enjolras – he definetly had a hurt rib the way he was holding himself. Enjolras hoped it was just bruised. He seemed exhausted, Enjolras suspected he was running on nothing but nervous energy and fumes. “I’ll just tell you next time.”

“We need to get better at talking.” Enjolras said.

Grantaire smiled, tired but sincere. And here was a thing Enjolras hadn’t forgotten, the way a smile made Grantaire’s eyes seem more blue, the way it lit his face up.

“Yeah.” Grantaire agreed “Yeah, we do.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> *while editing*  
> my brain: You know what would have been good? If you'd writting the now sections in present tense  
> me: ....I hate you


End file.
